


Gravity Sings

by parenthetical, Zooey_Glass



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Wincest - Freeform, spn: season three, spn_j2_bigbang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-13
Updated: 2008-06-12
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:33:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parenthetical/pseuds/parenthetical, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zooey_Glass/pseuds/Zooey_Glass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A string of apparent suicides turns into something more sinister when Sam and Dean uncover an apparent connection to their family. As they work to find a solution to the case, they begin to wonder whether they are the targets - or the cause.</p><p><cite>The scene before him came into focus. Two figures, one dark in the shadowy gloom of the roof, the other balanced on the wall, silhouetted against the city skyline.</cite></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for episodes up to and including 3.03, plus one minor spoiler for 3.12. Written for the 2008 spn_j2_bigbang challenge. The lovely gottalovev on LJ created a wealth of gorgeous art for this story, and was an awesome person to work with from start to finish. Please go and [see the art](http://gottalovev.livejournal.com/145041.html) at her journal and give it the love it deserves.

#### Prologue

"Don't go waving any magic wands or anything, genius." Dean stepped carefully over the remaining tripwires that criss-crossed the entrance to the lock-up. "Not unless you want your dick to drop off or something. Freaking hoodoo."

Sam muttered something inaudible under his breath and looked around. Dean scanned the room too, double-checking that nothing appeared to have been disturbed since the last time they'd been there. Apart from the thin layer of dust already forming over the clean square where the curse box had been, everything seemed OK.

Sam moved further into the room, scanning the shelves. Dean started at the other side, examining the objects cluttering the table. Officially, they were there to check that everything was secure - they'd taken precautions to keep Bela and her hired rats out, but Dean still didn't want to leave anything too dangerous lying around. Unofficially...

Dean stared at his old shotgun. There were other reasons, too.

He glanced back at his brother, noticing Sam lingering over a pile of papers tucked in next to his old soccer trophy. He wished Dad had told them he was holding onto some of this junk - not like Dean was the sentimental type, but it might have made it easier to keep Sam from bitching about his stuff every time they moved on. Then again, he thought, Sam had held onto a Twinkie wrapper for a year and a half after some chick gave it to him. Maybe Dad had had the right idea, keeping the storage space a secret.   
He flipped carefully through a pile of papers, then started checking inside some of the boxes - not the curse boxes, he'd had enough of them to last him the rest of his life, but what appeared to be simple storage boxes. Even so, he handled them gingerly.   
A few boxes were simply stuffed with newspaper clippings, records left over from one hunt or another. Dean recognized another, smaller tin as twin to the one he kept in the Impala for silver bullets and other stray pieces of ammunition. Sure enough, when he pried the lid off he found a few shell casings, relics of their first attempts at making rock salt rounds.

Dean was about to move on when something red caught his eye. He shifted a few things aside and found a new stack of boxes at the back. The red thing turned out to be an old cigarette carton, the fancy kind which had probably been meant as a gift. Dean idly flipped it open, and only just managed to avoid dropping it when he saw what was inside.

It was a ring. A pretty damn ugly one, at that, chunky and overly gaudy. But Dean _knew_ that ring, had slipped it onto his thumb back when his hands were small enough that it had fallen straight off again. The question was, what the hell was it doing here? Because if it was the ring he remembered - and something that ugly was hard to get confused - well, his dad would never have left it locked up here.

He shook the carton, looking for more clues. There wasn't much else in there - a pair of really fugly ear-rings with big paste diamonds, and a thin, tarnished wedding band, too big for Dean's finger. Nothing he recognized.

"Something interesting?"

Dean started as Sam came up behind him. "Nah, I don't think so." He flipped the carton closed again. "Just random crap."

"OK. You want to start re-laying the salt?" Sam pressed against him, peering over his shoulder at the boxes on the table.

"If you're done reading everything in the joint, sure," Dean said. He tossed the carton back onto the pile.

"There's a few papers I'm going to take with me, look at more closely," Sam said, and pulled away again to grab some chalk from the table. "But yeah, I think I'm done."

Dean grabbed for the salt, and belatedly realized he was wearing the ring. Huh. He hadn't even realized he'd put it on. He hesitated for a moment, then shrugged to himself and dropped it into his pocket. Maybe it wasn't - couldn't be - his mom's class ring, but it was similar enough. Maybe that was why Dad had kept it around.

He picked up the salt, laying a thick, careful line across the entrance and then round the rest of the room. Sam busied himself with marking devil's traps at strategic points on the walls.

"OK," Sam said finally, straightening up. "You ready to go?"

Dean cast a final look around the room, taking in the fresh defenses and lingering dust. He turned away, his hand brushing against the ring in his pocket.

"Yeah," he said. "Let's go."

 

* * *

 

#### Chapter One

"God, you're disgusting."

Dean looked up to see his brother eyeing him with disbelief. "Dude," he said indistinctly through a mouthful of sausage and pancake. "Nothing disgusting about a healthy appetite."

Sam snorted. "Healthy appetite? Dean, you have the 'healthy appetite' of a sumo wrestler."

"Nothing disgusting about that," Dean declared. "I'm hurt, Sammy. Demons whose idea of a good time is saving up entrails for a rainy day, you barely even gag, but the second I order a giganto-breakfast-platter, you go green."

"It's your ability to eat a giganto-breakfast-platter _right after_ you finish cleaning up the entrails that I find disgusting." Sam was staring at Dean's plate, but his knee nudged Dean's under the table.

Dean grinned at him. "Gotta work up an appetite somehow." He turned his attention back to his breakfast. Damn, those were good pancakes. And just about everything tasted better when Sam had that look of disgust on his face.

When he finally resurfaced, comfortably full (or maybe even a bit more) at last, Sam was working on his second cup of coffee, glancing over the local newspaper. Dean relaxed back against the booth and watched the other people in the diner.

Across the room, a young mom cut up eggs for her little girl, half her attention on her baby's fruitless attempts to squirm out of the buckles on its stroller. Dean watched them, grinning at the baby's antics and the kid's high-pitched running commentary. He wondered if Ben had been as chatty at that age, and felt his smile fade a little.

"All done?"

Dean blinked, caught off-guard, and managed a smile for the waitress. "Yeah, thanks."

She began gathering up his plates, quick and efficient. Dean watched her work instead of looking back at the family across the room. _No point in dwelling on never-gonna-bes._

"Any chance of a refill?" he asked once the waitress had cleared away the dishes, and nodded towards his cup.

"For me too, please," Sam added, looking up from the newspaper to smile at her.

"Sure," the waitress said. "I'll be right back." She made her way back to the counter, collecting stray coffee cups along the way. She was lifting the pot of fresh coffee when the door swung open, and she turned automatically to greet the new customer, the smile on her face blossoming to one of recognition as a flustered-looking girl shouldered her way in, hands full of bags. "Jill! Looks like you've bought half the mall."

Jill groaned theatrically as she dropped onto a stool at the counter, scattering bags on the floor around her. "My arms feel like it, too. God, it's so busy there today. I was ready to kill myself by the time I reached the front of the line in Lawson's -" She cut off suddenly, her expression shifting to one of embarrassed concern. "Oh. God. I'm so sorry, Laura. I just - I totally forgot. How are you holding up, honey?"

Laura shrugged, her smile gone. "OK. It's not like she was really hurt, at least. My mom's pretty upset, though."

From Laura's expression, Dean guessed that her mom wasn't the only one who was upset, but her friend didn't seem to notice. "God, I can imagine." Her eyes widened dramatically. "I mean... did anyone know your auntie was even depressed?"

"No, that's what's so weird." Laura set the coffee pot back down on the counter. "She seemed completely happy. And now... she denies that she was even trying to kill herself."

"Really?" Jill leaned in closer, confidentially. "But... throwing yourself off the roof? That's pretty serious."

"Yeah. Well, she's in the hospital now. Hopefully they'll figure it out." Laura shifted uncomfortably, glancing away from her friend, and caught Dean's eye. "Crap! I'm supposed to be serving these guys."

She caught up the coffee pot again and hurried back over to their table. "I'm so sorry for the wait. Can I get you anything else?"

"It's fine," Dean said reassuringly. "I couldn't help but overhear - you've obviously got other things to worry about. Is your aunt OK?"

He did his best to keep the tone of his question concerned-but-casual, though his instinct was telling him that something was... _off_ about the situation. What if the demon they'd wasted that night wasn't the only one in town?

Laura bit her lip, looking embarrassed. She focused on the coffee pot as she refilled their cups. "Oh, yeah, I'm sure she'll be fine. It was just a shock, you know?"

"There was never any sign that she was..." Dean trailed off.

Sam looked up from his newspaper and caught his eye.

"No," Laura said. "She's never - nothing like this has ever happened before. We'd no idea... well. Anyway, she's getting help now." She straightened, giving them an awkward smile. "Just shout if there's anything else I can get you."

Dean watched her return to her friend at the counter, then looked at Sam.

"You think...?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Dean said. "Let's check it out."

* * *

It only took a couple of casual conversations with local townspeople to find out that Laura's aunt had behaved quite normally right up until the afternoon she'd climbed up onto the roof of her house and jumped right off. It was a little more difficult to find out the location of the house, but in a town this small the excitement was enough of a novelty to keep people from wondering why two strangers were so interested in suicide sightseeing.

"Fucking demons," Dean groused as they walked the few blocks over to the house. "Used to be we could at least rely on one day between jobs, Jesus."

"Well, it might _not_ be a job," Sam pointed out. "Maybe the woman just got depressed."

"Yeah, maybe." Dean agreed. "But..."

"It feels off," Sam finished. "Although... if it's another demon, why would it mess up its host body? I know they're pretty careless, but jumping off a roof's kind of inconvenient."

"Maybe she's not the host - maybe it's the type that just likes messing with people's heads. Or -" Dean shrugged. "I dunno, Sam. It didn't kill her, and there're plenty of other host bodies around. Maybe this is just some demon's idea of a good time."

"Yeah, maybe," Sam conceded. He glanced at the street sign, then started looking at the house numbers. "Or maybe it was the same demon? We could have missed something, perhaps there was time..."

"I don't think the -" Dean cut off suddenly, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk, staring up at the nearest house. "...Dude."

Sam looked at the house too, and double-checked its number. It was definitely the right one. But...

"What the..." Dean said. "What, she jumped off the roof of _this_ house? Dude, _you're_ taller than it is!"

Maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration but, Sam reflected, not much of one. The house was a long, low single-story building - Sam doubted that a fall from the roof would be fatal, even from its highest point.

"If she was trying to end it all, dude, someone needs to give her some tips," Dean said.

"Maybe it was just vertigo," Sam suggested doubtfully. "You know, she was up on the roof for some reason and got that weird urge to jump."

Dean looked at him skeptically. "Why would she even _be_ on the roof?" He pulled the EMF meter from his pocket and switched it on. "Naw, this is some demon's idea of funny."

Sam couldn't really argue the point; attempted suicide didn't seem that plausible an explanation. He stepped up to the porch, studying the front door and the closest windows. No sign of sulfur that he could see.

Sam turned at the sound of the EMF meter whining, and Dean shot him a meaningful look.

"OK, so definitely not really a suicide attempt," Sam said. "But... I dunno, Dean. I'm still not sure it's a demon, either. No sulfur. Not _that_ much EMF, either." The noise of the meter had already faded to a quiet hum, occasionally spiking in volume when Dean pointed it in a new direction, nothing like the intensity they would expect if a demon had been there.

Besides, the place just didn't _feel_ like the site of a demonic possession. It wasn't as if they could always tell, but they both had a pretty good instinct for it by now. Sometimes places just felt _wrong_.

"Then what?" Dean asked, though he didn't seem about to argue. "Witch? Spirit?"

Sam shrugged. "Let's go see if we can find out."

* * *

It was late afternoon by the time they'd made it to the hospital and figured out where to find Linda Eady. It was easy enough to get in to talk to her - they just sauntered right in with a bunch of flowers and asked a nearby nurse to point them to Linda's bed. Dean had half-expected her to be on a closed ward somewhere, but apparently either the doctors weren't _that_ worried about her mental health, or small-town hospital resources didn't run to suicide watch.

She frowned at them when they walked into her room, more in confusion than hostility. "Do I know you?"

"We're friends of your niece, Laura," Sam said smoothly. "We were here visiting a friend, and she asked us to stop by and see how you were doing. I'm Sam, this is Dean."

"Oh," Linda said, looking surprised but pleased. Dean figured she was probably already bored, stuck in the hospital by herself. "That was kind. Come in, grab a seat if you like."

Dean settled himself on the one chair by her bed and watched in amusement as Sam cast around for a place to sit, realized that the only other spot was on Linda's bed, and leaned back against the wall as if he'd been planning to stand all along.

"It was kind of Laura to ask you to drop by," Linda said again. "I hope... did she seem OK to you?"

"Sure," Dean reassured her. "She's pretty busy, with the diner and all, but she was fine."

"She's always busy," Linda agreed. "She works too hard, all the hours she takes at that job on top of her school work. I feel terrible about the amount of time she's spent driving over here - I sure do appreciate you helping her out. I know she's worried about me."

"She is," Sam said. "How are you doing? What are the doctors saying?"

Linda sighed. "Ask five different doctors what's going on and you'll get five different answers. I just... don't know if I'm coming or going at this point. I feel fine right now, but I felt fine before, too, right up until..." She trailed off, and Dean did his best to offer something resembling a sincere smile.

"We heard that you..." He wondered if there was some tactful way of saying "chucked yourself off a weirdly low roof" that Sam would be expecting him to use. Damned if he could think of one, anyway.

Linda smiled unhappily. "Yes, I'm sure it's the talk of the town. No doubt they all think I was trying to commit suicide or some such thing."

"What exactly did happen?" Sam asked. "If you don't mind us asking, that is."

"I've been asking myself that," Linda admitted. "I just - I'm not suicidal, you know, really I'm not. I'm sure we all have days we'd rather just stay in bed and shut out the world, but it's not like I'm depressed or anything! I don't know what happened. One minute I was out working in the yard, and then the next thing I knew... I was up on the roof, and then I just - it was so strange, like I didn't..." She trailed off again, then laughed awkwardly, a short, ugly sound. "Maybe I really am losing my mind. It would explain a thing or two."

Sam murmured a denial, widening his eyes in his best "I feel your pain" look, but as soon as Linda looked down at the bed his lips tightened in determination. "Like you didn't what?" he pressed her. "You didn't plan to get up on the roof?"

Linda sighed. "No, I... it was like I was another person. I mean, I knew what I was doing - I can even remember thinking that I didn't want to jump - but it was as if someone else was doing the thinking. And... I felt really calm. It was like being on drugs, I guess."

"And you weren't on drugs," Dean confirmed. "You ever feel anything like this before?"

"No," Linda said. "Even when Macey - my daughter, Laura's cousin - well, when she had her problems a while back, I found myself doing some pretty crazy things then. But that was just normal worry, you know? Nothing like this."

Dean wondered what exactly Macey's 'problems' had been, but he figured their cover as Laura's friends was already wearing a bit thin, without risking asking questions they should already know the answer to. Linda's description of the compulsion to climb up on the roof, though... that sounded pretty familiar. "Christo," he muttered experimentally.

Linda blinked at him for a second before obviously assuming that she'd misheard. "I know, it really does sound crazy. The truth is, the doctors would have let me go home by now, but... well, I'd feel better if I had some idea what was going on."

"Of course," Sam said sympathetically. "But I'm sure you're in good hands." He tilted his head at Dean, indicating he was ready to leave.

"I'm sure you are," Dean agreed hastily. He checked his watch ostentatiously. "Jeez, I'm sorry, Linda. Sam here has a class to get to. But we'll drop by again the next time we visit our friend, maybe? If you're not already home and well again by then, of course."

"That would be nice." Linda smiled weakly at them. "Send Laura my love, would you? But... would you mind not mentioning what we talked about? I don't want her to worry."

"Of course," Dean said warmly. He followed Sam out into the corridor, glancing back to see Linda staring out of the window, hands pleating the sheet for a moment before she gave herself a little shake and picked up a ball of knitting.

"Nice lady," he commented. "Pretty weird, though, that whole compulsion deal. You think she _was_ possessed?"

Sam's lips twisted thoughtfully. "Maybe. The way she talked about feeling like someone else was doing the thinking, that fits. But not the calmness... when I was - you know - it was like being trapped. I was scared, at least when I was conscious at all."

"Maybe that's just because you knew what was happening?" Dean suggested.

"Maybe." Sam looked unconvinced. "She's not possessed now, anyway. So now what?"

"Now we eat," Dean said. "I'm starving. And then I guess we keep digging."

* * *

Linda's daughter and her 'problems' seemed like the obvious place to start researching. Googling didn't turn up anything - definitely no obvious links to the demon they'd exorcised from one of the local butchers - so Sam narrowed his search to the local newspaper and immediately stumbled on what Linda must have been referring to.

"Huh."

Dean leaned in close to read over his shoulder, breath warm against Sam's neck. "'Rapist sentenced to ten years' imprisonment.' Yeah, that would explain why Linda danced around the issue."

"But it doesn't sound like there's any kind of connection to our kind of job," Sam said, scanning the article. "Looks like they had a pretty water-tight case against him, from what they're reporting here."

"I guess," Dean agreed. "But what Linda described, man - I dunno, I still think there's something going on there. Maybe there's no connection with the daughter, but the compulsion thing sure sounded like our kind of gig."

"Well, it looks like Linda's daughter is about the same age as her cousin." Sam said. "How about we head back to the diner and see if Laura can give us a few more details about the case, just to be sure?"

"And we can have pie," Dean said happily. "They had strawberry pie."

Sam rolled his eyes. "We just _ate_. But yeah, we can have pie."

The diner was empty when they returned, the mid-afternoon lull between the lunch and dinner busy periods. Dean led the way back to the same booth they'd sat in for breakfast, shooting a warm grin at Laura, who was wiping down tables nearby. Sam watched her while Dean craned his neck to stare at the different varieties of pie on display at the counter. She looked tired: now that he was looking for it, Sam could see that Linda was probably right about her niece working too hard. But she came over to serve them quickly enough, coffee pot already in her hand.

Dean ordered his strawberry pie, then looked at Sam expectantly. Sam considered coconut cream for a moment - the one kind of pie Dean could be guaranteed not to steal - but relented and asked for a slice of blueberry instead. It wasn't like _he_ was that crazy about coconut, anyway.

"So," he said when Laura brought the pie over. "I guess it can probably get a bit boring sometimes, living in a place like this."

"Oh, it's not so bad," she said absently. "We have a movie theater, a couple of good bars. Besides, my school's less than an hour's drive. During the semester I'm barely even here."

"Not bad," Sam agreed. "Still, it can be hard, living in a small town. People gossip about anything even the slightest bit unusual." He let the comment hang, watching Laura closely for her reaction.

Laura rolled her eyes. "News travels fast around here, that's for sure. There's no such thing as a secret, not for long. But I guess all small towns are like that."

Dean swallowed down a giant mouthful of pie and said, a little muffled, "Bet that can be awkward sometimes, huh." He looked at her expectantly, with what he probably thought was an encouraging grin. Sam took a bite of his own pie to keep himself from groaning.

"I... guess so," Laura said, looking confused. "I'd better -" The phone behind the counter rang before she could finish, and she gave them a quick smile and hurried across the room to answer it.

"Hi there," she said, and then her face changed. The coffee pot landed on the counter with a clatter. "She... What? Are you sure?"

Sam was on his feet before she'd put the receiver back in the cradle, Dean at his elbow. "Everything OK?"

"My aunt." Laura still looked blank, like the news she'd heard hadn't really sunk in yet. "There's been some kind of... she jumped off the roof. Of the hospital."

She swayed slightly on her feet, and Dean caught her arm for support, helping her to sit down on one of the stools.

"Laura, we're so sorry," Sam said. He couldn't help but feel guilty. _Something_ was going on, and if they'd figured it out a bit faster... He exchanged a somber glance with Dean.

"I just don't get it," Laura said. Sam didn't think she'd even heard him. "She was... she was doing better. The doctors said she was OK. She was supposed to be OK!"

"We'll drive you to the hospital." Dean nodded at Sam to grab their things. "Do you have stuff you need to bring?"

"My purse." Laura swiped a hand across her eyes and sucked in a breath, straightening up a little. "Under the counter. And I should get someone to watch the diner..." She trailed off helplessly.

"I'll write a sign," Sam reassured her. He found her purse where it was stuffed in next to the register, and looked around until he spotted a sharpie lying next to the menu board. He spent another moment hunting for paper, then realized it was the dry-erase kind and abandoned his search in favor of writing directly on the glass door of the diner, as neatly he could manage when he was writing backwards.

"OK," Dean said, helping Laura to her feet. "Let's go - my car's just outside."

"Thanks," Laura said, half-dazedly. "I just - I need to be there, I need to find out..." She swallowed hard and didn't finish.

"It's no problem," Sam assured her, and opened the door to let Dean escort her out.

* * *

Sam wasn't surprised to find the entrance to the hospital crowded with people: press and a couple of cops, along with a sizeable number of regular people who had clearly just turned up to see the show. Dean shouldered his way through the throng, clearing the way for Laura. Several people called out to her as she passed, faces filled with curiosity or concern, but she kept her head down until they were well inside.

The staff on duty at the admissions desk looked like they'd rather make Laura fill out forms than tell her anything, but Sam explained who she was and demanded information in a tone that brooked no argument. It seemed to do the trick: a doctor materialized a few minutes later to talk to them, her expression dispelling any lingering doubt that they were too late.

Her explanation was sympathetic but brief. It seemed that Linda had walked out of her room along to the bathroom, then, instead of returning, had carried on past the nurses' station and on up the stairs. No one had paid her much mind, at least until an orderly had stepped out onto the roof for a sly smoke just in time to witness Linda climbing up onto the wall. She'd jumped before the guy had time to do more than cry out.

Laura didn't ask any questions: it was clear she was too shell-shocked to really take everything in. Dean thanked the doctor, then asked quietly, "Can she, uh, see the body?"

The woman gave a quick shake of her head. "I don't recommend it. We did our best to save her, but... the woman jumped twelve stories. We need a little time before the family sees her."

Laura turned horribly white, and Dean hastily ushered her over to the nearest seat.

"Thanks," Sam said to the doctor, lowering his voice. "Was there any sign that she might do anything like this? I know she'd been receiving treatment, but..."

The doctor looked at him for a moment, and Sam did his best to project as much sincerity as he could. It must have worked, because the doctor relented enough to admit, "No, this was... entirely unexpected. If we'd thought she was likely to do anything like this, there would have been much closer checks on her. She seemed normal just a few hours earlier. I'm afraid that sometimes there's just no way to know."

"I guess not," Sam said. He was about to ask more, but was interrupted by a voice from down the corridor.

"Laura! Oh, honey, I'm so glad you're here."

Sam turned, and felt a moment of shock before he realized the woman he was seeing was younger and plumper than the one they'd interviewed that morning. Not Linda's ghost, but her sister.

"Mom!" Laura got quickly to her feet, her look of shock receding in the face of her obvious concern. "Are you OK?"

Sam took advantage of the distraction to catch Dean's eye and jerk his head in the direction of the door. _I'm gonna look around._

Dean nodded imperceptibly, his eyes flickering to Laura and her mother. _I'll keep an eye on them._ He got to his feet, too, all of his attention seemingly on the grieving women. Sam didn't think anyone else noticed when Dean slipped what could probably be mistaken for a battered mp3 player into his hand, or when Sam slipped out of the room.

* * *

Sam started by heading for the floor where they'd interviewed Linda before. From what the doctor had said, it seemed that whatever had happened to her had started there. He was slightly concerned that it would be difficult to wander about there unnoticed - there was every chance someone would remember him from the day before and try to head him off, whether through suspicion or sympathy - but when he got there, no one gave him a second glance. All the nurses were either too busy comforting distressed patients - suicides probably weren't the best influence on mental wards - or simply gossiping about what had happened to Linda. Either way, it was easy to walk right up to the room she'd been in, passing the EMF meter surreptitiously along the walls.

Once he got in there, he grabbed a piece of paper from his pocket and went carefully through her belongings, eyes flicking back to the paper every now and then so it would look to anyone who glanced in as if he was there for a good reason. There was a jumble of stuff in the bedside cabinet - barrettes, a book of sudoku puzzles, a ball of yarn with knitting needles stuck through it - but nothing out of the ordinary. No sulfur, and not so much as a peep out of the EMF meter.

He headed back along the corridor, and was arrested by the sudden piercing squeal as the meter _did_ pick something up. He stopped and looked around: the nurses' station. Well, that fit.

It looked like whatever had happened to Linda had happened there. Sam thought about stopping to talk to the nurses, but decided against it for now. Given the reporters asking questions downstairs, it was unlikely that any of the nurses would give him any information, whether they recognized him or not. He could always come back later.

The EMF meter led him along the hallway and into a stairwell at the end. Sam climbed the stairs, mentally estimating how long it would have taken Linda to climb this many flights. Several minutes at the very least. Time for someone who wasn't really suicidal to rethink things. Unless, of course, she hadn't been the one in control.

Odd, considering there'd been no sign of her being possessed when they'd visited that morning.

The rooftop was a sudden blast of cold air when Sam emerged through the final door. He'd been worried that there might be cops up here, but it looked like they had decided there was nothing particular to investigate. Sam supposed it probably looked like an open-and-shut case to them.

It was bleak and dirty up there, the floor littered with candy wrappers and cigarette butts. Clearly the guy who'd seen Linda jump wasn't the only one who made a habit of taking his break out on the roof. Sam figured from what they'd heard that Linda must've taken the quickest way to the edge; he headed in a straight line out towards the cement wall, swinging the EMF meter wide to catch any traces.

It registered a surge of activity at the same moment as he spotted the loose rubble scattered next to the wall: Linda must have had to jam her feet into the crumbling cement in order to get up onto the edge. Sam felt a sick horror at the thought, imagining her scrambling up, bent on jumping. He hoped for her sake that she hadn't really been aware of what was happening.

He swept the EMF meter along the wall and frowned. It was definitely registering something, but... it didn't seem anything like what Sam had expected. If Linda had been possessed by something powerful enough to make her jump from here - another sick roll of Sam's stomach as he looked over the edge, registering the distance to the ground - he should have been finding a lot more evidence than this.

He could see the bloodstain on the ground, the area still cordoned off. Sam swallowed hard and took a step back from the edge, trying not to think of the tired, frightened woman he'd spoken to that morning. He supposed that the place where she'd... landed was probably the next logical place to check out. That didn't mean he was looking forward to it.

It didn't take him long to make his way back downstairs to the reception area. The crowd had thinned out some by now, but one particularly persistent reporter was arguing with an admissions clerk.

"Five minutes, that's all I'm asking. I'd be in and out before you knew it, I promise."

"I've told you, it's out of the question," the clerk insisted. "He's being treated for shock, and we've had orders that no one from the media is to be allowed in to see him. If he decides to make a statement about what he saw later, that's his decision, but for now he needs to recover."

Sam smoothly changed direction and headed back into the hospital proper. If the witness was still in the hospital somewhere, that was a far better line of investigation than checking out the scene outside.

It wasn't that difficult to find the guy now Sam knew he was there; eavesdropping on a few conversations with gossipy staff was enough to reveal that he was in one of the private rooms on the third floor. Getting in to see him was more difficult: it was clear that the hospital authorities had told people to keep a close watch for any particularly pushy journalists. Sam was being politely but firmly turned away from the ward when he caught sight of the nurse who'd directed them to Linda yesterday. _What the hell_. He raised his voice a little. "I do understand how traumatic it must have been. But Linda's family just want to know what happened; I only need a few minutes with him, please."

The hospital administrator was opening his mouth to refuse when the nurse intervened. "He _is_ a friend of the family, he was visiting just this morning."

The guy paused, caught off-guard, and Sam took the opportunity to cut in before he could gather his wits. "Thank you so much, I really appreciate it." He shouldered his way past, leaving the man looking vaguely confused as to whether or not he'd actually agreed.

"Really do keep it to just a few minutes, though, please," the nurse said, leading him to the right room. "I'm sorry about what happened, but he's very shaken up."

"Of course," Sam promised. "Thanks."

The young man sitting on the chair next to the window jerked his head up as Sam knocked and slipped into the room. "Who are you? Look, if you're from the press or anything -"

"I'm not," Sam assured him. "They would never have let me in if I was. My name's Sam, I'm a friend of Linda's family."

The man's demeanor changed at once. "Oh, god, I'm so sorry. I'm Mike. Do you - want to sit down or something?"

Sam hauled over one of the plastic chairs from the corner and sat down opposite him. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to bother you. You must be pretty shaken up."

"Yeah," Mike said, running one hand nervously through his hair. "I just - it was awful." He swallowed and met Sam's eyes for a moment before his gaze darted away. "But I know her family's bound to have questions. What do you want to know?"

"Maybe you could just tell me what you saw?" Sam suggested. "You were up on the roof, right? What time was it?"

"Um, about... quarter, twenty past twelve, I guess," Mike said. "I was on break, having a last smoke before I went back on duty. I always take my cigarette breaks up there - I like the view." He shuddered. "Or I did, at least. Don't know that I'll be going up there again."

"I don't blame you," Sam agreed. "And Linda came out onto the roof? What happened?"

"She just walked out of the doors," Mike said. "Didn't look out of breath or anything, even though it's a long way up - I'm always gasping by the time I've gone up all those stairs. I called out to her, just said 'hi', you know - I didn't recognize her right away, I just figured she was staff too."

"Did she reply?" Sam asked.

"No." Mike shook his head. "I should have figured then that something was off, but..." He took a deep breath. "Anyway, she just walked straight over to the wall. Didn't run or anything, but she went right over there, didn't pause or look around or anything. She had the strangest look on her face, like it was all completely normal, you know? Like nothing was out of the ordinary. It was weird."

Sam nodded thoughtfully. "And then she..." He let the question trail off.

"She climbed up on the wall," Mike said. "It happened so fast - when I realized what she was doing I yelled, but I didn't have time to reach her, she just..." He swallowed hard. Sam could see sweat beading on his forehead.

"She didn't hesitate at all?" Sam asked. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I believe you, it just seems so weird for her. The doctors seemed to think she was getting better. And I spoke to her that morning and she seemed OK then. She didn't even pause or anything?"

"There was this one moment," Mike said. "She didn't pause, not that, but her expression... changed. Like I said, she looked so calm when she came up there, but there was this one moment - right when she reached the wall - when she suddenly looked so scared. That was the moment I figured out something was wrong. But it was only a second - then she just looked... peaceful again. She didn't stop or anything. I'm sorry, I really did try to get to her in time -"

"I know," Sam assured him. "Thanks, Mike. I really appreciate you taking the time to talk to me. The family will too."

"I hope they're doing OK," Mike said, leaning back in his seat and taking a shaky breath. "Maybe - maybe you don't need to tell them about that moment when she looked scared, though. This must be hard enough on them. Maybe they don't need to..."

Sam nodded, and stood up. "Look after yourself, Mike."

He could hear the orderly taking shaky breaths, trying to calm himself down, as he closed the door again behind him.

* * *

Dean waited uneasily while Sam was checking out the hospital, keeping one eye out for his brother's return while he kept track of what was going on with Laura and her family. Not that he was worried - hell, even Sam couldn't fuck up something as basic as a simple recon - but still, he'd have preferred to take a look himself. Besides, it had quickly become apparent that he was useless where he was, pushed into the background as more of Linda's family arrived. When he finally did glimpse Sam's face through the glass of the door it was easy enough to slip out; only Laura even noticed as he quietly excused himself.

Sam looked tense and a little strained, sticking close by Dean as they made their way back towards the elevators. "Did you hear anything else?"

"Not much." Dean jostled his brother in return and hit the button for the elevator. "Laura's mom was pretty upset, blaming herself for not realizing her sister was depressed. That stuff about the daughter came up again; it seems like we were right about her having been raped. But Laura still reckons there was no way Linda was depressed, and definitely not suicidal."

"She's not wrong," Sam said grimly. "There was definitely something up on that roof with her."

"Demon?"

Sam shook his head. "No." He leaned back against the wall, looking tired. "Maybe. I don't know. There was no sulfur and - well, there was EMF everywhere she'd been, but not enough. Especially not considering... well, you know hospitals, it's difficult to get a clear reading. But I spoke to the guy who saw her jump."

"And?" Dean prompted, when it was clear that Sam wasn't about to continue.

"He said she seemed totally serene, except for one moment. It reminded me of... that's the kind of thing a demon would do, you know? Let go just enough so she would know what was going on, so she would be really frightened." Sam rubbed at his forehead, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment. "I guess we'll have to check out the house properly, see if there's any real clue there."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "I want to check out the roof first, though."

Sam stared at him. "Dean, we just got finished talking about how I already _checked_ the roof. There's nothing to see."

Dean shrugged. "Never hurts to have a second pair of eyes."

"So, what? You don't trust me to have checked things out properly?" Sam demanded hotly.

"I trust you! I just..." Dean hesitated. The truth was, he wasn't quite sure exactly where the sudden need to see the roof for himself had come from. "I just need to get an idea of what happened for myself," he finished lamely. The elevator doors opened before them and he stepped in, pressing the button for the top floor before Sam could say anything more.

* * *

Dean checked the roof in silence, aware of Sam's eyes on him as he retraced Linda's movements. He had to admit that his brother was right - there wasn't much to be seen. And yet - "This where she jumped from?" he asked, pointing at the scuffed marks on the wall.

"I'm pretty sure it is, yeah." Sam looked like he didn't know whether to be puzzled or pissed off. "There's nothing much to see, though."

Dean hummed non-committally, leaning over the wall to peer down. He couldn't see the place where she'd landed from this angle; he leaned further out, one hand on the wall to keep his balance.

The ground was a long way down. A really long way down.

He wondered what it had been like for her, standing up here and looking down. Had she been scared? Had she thought about how it would feel, falling all that distance? Or had whatever had been influencing her stopped her from even realizing what she was doing?

Serene, that was what Sam had said. Except for that one moment of fear.

He guessed there were worse ways to go.

"Dean." Sam crowded up close behind him, voice right by his ear. "Come on, man."

Dean started, his hand stumbling on the wall, and felt his brother's arm shoot out to hold him. He steadied himself and shook Sam off, stepping away from the edge. "What the hell, dude?"

Sam was frowning at him, concern rather than irritation. "You tell me, man. You OK?"

"Fine," Dean said shortly. He looked around the roof again, and tried to shake off his weird feeling. "Let's get out of here."

Sam frowned at him for a moment more, then let it go. "Yeah, I'm pretty beat. You wanna go back to the motel?" He crowded up close again, one hand sliding up to pull Dean in close enough for a kiss. "We could take a shower, order pizza?"

Dean leaned into his brother for a moment. It was tempting, even if he did know that the only reason Sam was suggesting it was because he'd gotten it into his head that Dean was freaking out over Linda, or something. But - "Nah, we gotta check out the house, first." He bit at Sam's lip gently, then pulled away. "No rest for the wicked."

* * *

It was starting to get dark by the time they reached Linda's house. Dean glanced around to be on the safe side, but he didn't think there was much chance any of her family would be there at the moment. Sure enough, it was deserted, the blinds still standing open despite the darkening sky.

Once inside, Sam took out the EMF meter again and started scanning. Dean concentrated on looking around, trying not to think about the fact that Linda would never be coming back here again, what it would be like for her family to have to pack up all of her belongings.

It was a pretty nice house, not fancy, but not run-down. There were tapestry cushions on most of the chairs, along with a basket of yarn in the living room - evidently Linda had been the crafty type. Photos were lined up on the mantelpiece, mostly showing the same girl - presumably Linda's daughter Macey - at various different ages, sometimes with Linda or Laura or a few other people. Nobody who looked like he could be Macey's dad, though, so Dean figured he wasn't on the scene. He left Sam to check out the sitting room and headed further on into the house, looking for the bedrooms.

The first door he opened was clearly Macey's old room - posters on the walls and a row of stuffed animals lined up in the bed. It didn't look like she'd lived there for a while, which would explain why she hadn't shown up at the hospital. Dean took a quick look through her things, but apart from some seriously dubious books (apparently girls could read soft porn as long as it had pink covers and a soppy title) there was nothing out of the ordinary.

Linda's room seemed equally innocent, although she seemed surprisingly sloppy to Dean, piles of clean clothes dumped untidily on the end of the bed. He took more time looking through her things, because there had to be _something_ \- sulfur or a curse bag or mystical fricking symbols - to explain why a perfectly normal person had walked off the roof of a building.

There were rows of pill bottles in the bathroom cabinet, and for a moment Dean half-considered the possibility they'd been on the wrong track entirely and Linda really was sick, or drugged up or something. But studying the bottles just revealed Tylenol and vitamin C, and bunch of herbal shit which Dean was pretty sure was lacking in any effect whatsoever.

He took a quick look in the other cupboards, then wandered back into the bedroom and poked around some more. There were a couple of magazines on the bedside table, but no sign of a diary or the like. Dean pulled a face in frustration and went to check in the drawers of her dressing table instead.

There was no sign of a diary there either, just things like clothes and frilly scarves, certainly nothing that seemed to have any kind of occult significance. The top drawer was dedicated to jewelry, and Dean had a quick rake through it in case she'd accidentally picked up some cursed antique necklace at a flea market or the like. None of it looked suspicious, however. Dean pushed the drawer shut again in disgust.

He looked around the room again and registered that the long drapes actually hid a door, not a window. Evidently Linda's bedroom opened out onto the back yard. The key still stood in the door; not exactly the most security-conscious place for it, but Dean figured this wasn't really the kind of town where people worried over stuff like that.

He glanced through the glass, taking in the view of the yard, and paused, noticing the broken flowers and greenery lying scattered on the ground next to the door. He stepped outside to check it out, taking in the sight of the trellis fixed to the wall, stretching up almost to the roof itself. The flowers that were still twined around it and not lying on the ground were crushed in places.

He guessed he'd found how Linda got onto the roof.

Dean eyed the trellis, noting the size of the spaces between the slats, looking warily to see how tightly it was fixed to the wall. It didn't look like the most stable of ladders, but if it held his weight, he was pretty sure he'd be able to climb it.

And if not - well. He already knew a fall from that height wasn't fatal.

* * *

"Dean?" Sam moved slowly through the house, half his attention on the EMF meter - which was resolutely refusing to give more than a token whine - and half listening for his brother's movements at the back of the house. Not that he was seriously expecting to run into anything truly dangerous - his guess was that whatever they were dealing with, it was gone from here by now - but his brother's behavior back at the hospital was still in his mind.

This was a pretty shitty case, it was true; Linda had seemed like a really nice lady. But it wasn't like either of them was under any illusion that crappy things couldn't happen to nice people.

_To the best people_, his mind supplied, and yeah. They were both a little off-balance these days; maybe it had nothing to do with this case at all.

There seemed to be nothing unusual in what had to be Macey's old room, but Sam scanned it anyway, just to be certain. The silence was beginning to grate on his nerves, though. "Find anything?" he called out.

No answer.

Frowning, Sam strode out and down the hall to the last room, presumably Linda's. "Hey, Dean, you find -" He cut off in mid-sentence as he opened the door and found the room empty. For a moment he almost panicked, before he noticed the door, half-hidden behind thick drapes and standing slightly ajar.

The back yard was empty too, and Sam's frown deepened. The EMF meter gave another a faint whine, then fell silent again.

It was only a faint, scuffing sound overhead that finally made him turn and look up at the roof, and it took a moment for him to get over the surprise and dawning unease enough to speak. "...Dean?"

His brother appeared at the edge of the roof. "Sam? You find something?"

"I was looking for _you_." Sam could hear the edge in his own voice. "What the hell are you doing up there?"

Dean stared at him blankly for a moment. "Just checking out the scene of the crime." He leaned forward a little too much and jerked back again, one hand against the pitch of the roof to steady himself. "Throw me up the EMF meter, will you?"

Sam sighed and tossed it up. Letting Dean just do whatever it was he’d gone up there for would be quicker than arguing with him about it. "If you break both your legs falling off that roof there's no way I'm wheeling your lazy ass around."

Dean retreated back onto the main part of the roof, reappearing looking disappointed. "Nothing to speak of."

"Then get down from there." Sam tried not to grit his teeth.

"All right, all right. Keep your hair on, Aunt Sally." Dean jammed the meter in his jacket pocket - and jumped off the roof.

* * *

It wasn't even that much of a jolt, landing; Dean had been forced to jump from far higher places on occasion, over the years, and taken a worse fall or two as well. He brushed off his hands against his jacket, and winced as Sam punched his arm. It hurt more than the jump had.

"What the _hell_ was that, Dean?" Sam demanded, a sharp edge in his voice.

Dean rolled his eyes. _Here we go again._ "Quickest way down, Sam. 'Sides, _you're_ taller than this fricking building." OK, it was an exaggeration, but not that much of one. He took the EMF meter out of his pocket and pressed it into Sam's hand, distraction and reassurance, then brushed past him, heading back indoors.

And paused as something on the top of the dresser caught his eye.

He made his way over to take a closer look, telling himself he was probably mistaken.

As rings went, it didn't look particularly occult. In fact, it looked decidedly tacky, and much more like the kind of ring he would have expected to have been buried, half-forgotten, at the very bottom of a jewelry box at the back of the drawer, not lying out in the open as if Linda had considered wearing it.

Not occult, no. But the fact that he was carrying an identical ring buried in his pocket at that moment was enough to stop him in his tracks.

"What is it?" Sam asked from the doorway. Dean didn't turn, but he could feel his brother's eyes intent on him.

"You OK?" Sam asked when he didn't answer, and moved to stand by his elbow. "You think this is what we’re looking for?"

"Yeah," Dean said numbly, rolling the ring thoughtfully between his fingers. "I think maybe."

Sam swept the EMF meter across the ring experimentally. Dean could hear the whine even without the earphones. "Looks like you're right. Not as major as I would have expected, but there's definite EMF. I guess this is the source."

"I guess so," Dean said unhappily. "There's nothing else here that I can see."

Sam looked relieved. "C'mon, then, let's get back to the motel." He clapped Dean on the shoulder, the contact lingering for a moment. "We can do some more research there, figure out what it is we're dealing with. Okay?"

Dean sighed and tucked the ring carefully into his pocket. "Yeah." He followed his brother slowly out of the room.

* * *

Sam headed for the bathroom as soon as they got back to the motel, shucking off his overshirt as he went. "Gonna take a shower." He looked at Dean expectantly.

Dean frowned. "What happened to wanting to do research?"

"We've got time for a shower," Sam said. "We barely even got any sleep last night, Dean, and today's been pretty... intense. C'mon."

Dean bit his lip, trying not to look at the strip of skin where his brother's t-shirt was riding up. He knew damn well that the main reason Sam was so keen was because he'd been worrying about him all day, for some reason.

"Look, we've got a solid lead now," Sam reminded him. "Let's have a shower and something to eat, and then we can figure out where Linda got that ring -"

"Gracefield High School," Dean supplied automatically. "Class of 1972."

Sam looked at him in surprise. "What, are you an expert in class rings now, or something?"

"No." Dean sighed and fished out the ring from his pocket, laying it next to the one Sam had placed on the bedside cabinet. "But that's where Mom went. It's the same as Mom's ring."

"The same as - ?" Sam's fingers closed around the ring, his face hurt. "You had Mom's class ring and you never thought I might like to know?"

"_No_," Dean said quickly. He closed his fingers around Sam's. "This isn't Mom's ring, at least I don't think so. But... I remember playing with Mom's class ring when I was a kid. This one was in Dad's lock-up. I guess he found it someplace and kept it because it reminded him of Mom."

"And then you did the same," Sam said dully. "You really remember it?"

"Yeah." Dean squeezed Sam's hand for a moment before letting go. "I'm sorry, Sammy, I guess I should have said something."

Sam didn't reply, just opened his hand to stare at the ring again. Dean swallowed, but didn't look away.

"Did Mom use to wear hers?" Sam asked after a moment.

It was weird, talking about her. They almost never did. Dean cleared his throat. "No, never. It's pretty damn ugly, let's face it."

Sam huffed in agreement, turning the ring over in his hands.

"I sometimes did, though," Dean added. This was something he could offer Sam, at least. "I used to play around with all the stuff on her dresser. She kept her good jewelry away from me, but that ring was solid and tacky enough that she was fine with me playing with it. I could fit two of my fingers through it, back then."

Sam snorted and looked up at him, something like a smile on his face, easing the twisted feeling inside Dean. Then his stomach knotted again as Sam's face clouded. "You think Linda went to Mom's school? That they were friends, even?"

"Yeah, I think so," Dean said slowly. "I don't know about friends, but... Linda's - was - the right age. And I can't see why she'd have a ring this fugly unless it was actually hers."

Sam took a deep breath and let it out slowly, then set the ring down on the bedside cabinet again with a quiet _chink_. "Shit."

Dean really wasn't liking the sound of that. "Sam?"

Sam rubbed his mouth nervously, then got up and started pacing. "Did we miss anything today? Anything that might point towards demon involvement?"

Dean frowned. "There's been nothing clear-cut, except we know Linda wasn't possessed when we spoke to her, at least. No sulfur. EMF's been nothing like as strong as I'd expect for demonic possession. So what's making you jump back to that theory?"

Sam bit his lip. "I did some research a while back."

"OK," Dean said slowly.

"Into Mom's past," Sam said.

Dean felt his face change, and took a deep breath. "Spill, Sam." He could hear the edge in his voice, even though he was trying to control it.

Sam didn't look happy. "It turns out that just about everyone who ever knew her... they're dead, Dean. Her friends, her relatives - hell, her _doctor_... all dead."

Dean felt his face harden. "And you never thought I might like to know that?" As a general rule, he tried never to throw Sam's own words back at him, but _Jesus_, what the hell had Sam been doing, keeping this from him?

Sam hunched over unhappily. "I was going to tell you! Only, it was just after you met Ben, and then I got hit by that stupid curse, and... it was just never the right time."

"Never the right time," Dean repeated. "Anything else it _hasn't been the right time_ for?"

Sam sat back down on the bed, curling in on himself. "I think Mom knew something about the demon," he said quietly. "When Azazel took me, he told me... I thought he was just messing with my head. Demons lie, right? But when I looked up her friends..."

"Great." Dean abruptly felt his anger leave him. "So you think a demon killed Linda? I thought we were done with that yellow-eyed bastard when we killed him."

"I'm sorry, Dean," Sam said unhappily. "But he wasn't working completely alone, was he? Meg, the others... Maybe they've taken up where he left off."

"You think there could be some members of his happy little family that we haven't met yet?" Dean shook his head. "Great," he repeated. "This just keeps getting better and better."

They sat in glum silence for a minute or two before Dean finally cleared his throat. "You still want to take that shower?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "That would be good."

Sam's smile was tentative in a way Dean could never stand, and Dean grabbed his arm to pull him up. "C'mon, first one to the bathroom gets to stand under the spray." He still wasn't happy about anything he'd learned that evening, but he wasn't about to waste time blaming Sam.

In the end they both managed to fit under the spray, tangled together in an awkward attempt to get as much warm water on both of them as possible. Sharing a shower was frankly ridiculous when the person you were sharing with was the size of Sam, but it was oddly satisfying all the same, sharing soap and water and space.

Dean let Sam offer a silent apology by washing his back, and returned it by soaping up Sam's hair, grinning at the way Sam had to lean forward to let him do so, shampoo streaming down his face and across his closed eyes.

When the water ran clear, he pressed a quick kiss to Sam's lips, then slid out of the shower. His brother had been right about them needing to get some rest. They had work to do tomorrow.


	2. Chapter 2

Sam woke early, pulled into consciousness by the light streaming through the thin motel curtains. Dean was still asleep, one outflung arm a heavy weight across Sam's shoulders. Sam could see one of the rings on the nightstand beside him, the ugly, chunky stone glinting green in the light. He squinted around blearily for the other, finally locating it on the stand at Dean's side of the bed. His brother must have picked it up for a closer look.

He wondered about the ring Dean had found. If it wasn't Mom's - and Dean was right, that was pretty unlikely - then why had it been in the lock-up at all? A keepsake, maybe, from someone else who'd known Mom?

Sam eased out from under his brother's arm and slid out of bed. He hesitated when Dean stirred, but his brother just gave a little grunt and shifted into the space Sam had left, nuzzling into the warm sheet. Sam smiled briefly, then padded over to his duffel and pulled on some clothes. He picked up the rings, carrying them over to the window where he could see them more clearly. As far as he could tell there wasn't anything special about either of them. The green stone was set in some kind of coat of arms, with what must have been the school motto emblazoned across the bottom.

_Praemia virtutis honores_. Honor is the reward of virtue.

It simplified things, at least: it shouldn't be too difficult to confirm that Dean was right about the rings being from Gracefield High School. Sam started the laptop and found the school's website within minutes. Most of it was devoted to class schedules and school rules, but he spotted the Latin motto written in tiny letters around the school logo, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. He checked the alumni pages, but was unsurprised to find they only went back a few years. He tried Google instead, searching for his mom's name and the school's.

He hadn't really expected to get many hits, so he was surprised to find a website for a school reunion held the previous year. _Class of 1972, 25-year reunion_. The reunion website had a list of those who'd graduated that year, and Sam scanned down the list, nodding to himself as he saw Linda's name, and feeling his breath catch at the sight of his mother's, even though he'd been looking for it.

The reunion had been held only a few months ago, he noticed. Maybe that was why Linda had had the ring lying around - she'd probably dug it out for the reunion. From what they'd seen of the house, she wasn't really the type who put things back in their places right away. He clicked into the list of alumni who'd made it to the reunion to confirm, and yeah, there she was. There were even a few pictures, people holding up their glasses to the camera, in what was obviously the lobby of their old school.

Sam sighed and rubbed his eyes. So Linda really had gone to school with their mom. Had known her, maybe even been friends with her. And now she was dead.

He wasn't a great believer in coincidence. And the fact that it had happened now, while he and Dean were in town... He swallowed hard. There was no real way to know if it was their presence that had brought whatever this was down on her, but he couldn't help but feel guilty.

"Thinking too hard, dude." Sam jerked out of his reverie, turning to see Dean frowning at him in concern. He forced a smile and saw his brother relax slightly.

"Seriously, how long have you been awake?" Dean propped himself up on one elbow, still watching him closely.

"Not long," Sam said mildly. "I didn't even go for coffee yet."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, you wanna get right on that."

"What did your last slave die of?" Sam said automatically, but he closed the computer down. "You want waffles?"

"Nah." Dean sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "Let's go see if anywhere round here does decent eggs." He headed for the bathroom, tugging gently on Sam's hair as he passed. "Make yourself look decent, freakboy."

Sam smacked his arm lightly in return, but couldn't help smiling. "What next?" he called into the bathroom. "I think we should -"

The sound of gargling cut off, and Dean called back, "Eggs, Sam!"

"After the eggs," Sam conceded. "We need to talk to -"

"Laura's mom, yeah," Dean said with exaggerated patience. "Let a man gargle in peace, Sammy!"

Sam grinned, and left Dean to it.

* * *

It took a while for Laura's mom to answer the door, and when she did her eyes were red and swollen. "Hello?" she asked, looking at them without recognition.

"Hello, Mrs. Bryant," Dean said. "We met at the hospital yesterday - I'm Dean, this is Sam."

"We're sorry to bother you," Sam put in, "but we just wanted to check up on Laura and see if she's doing OK."

Her face cleared. "I remember you now - you're the ones who drove Laura to the hospital yesterday. Come inside."

They followed her into the house and through to the kitchen. Mrs. Bryant picked up the kettle. "I should offer you coffee," she said vaguely. "Or tea, maybe - I think we have tea..."

"Coffee would be great, Mrs. Bryant," Sam said quickly. "Thank you."

"So polite! You can call me Sarah, all Laura's friends do." Her face tightened. "Thank you for looking after her. It was such a shock, I didn't even think..." She trailed off.

"We're sorry about your sister," Dean said sympathetically. "How are you and Laura holding up?"

"It's going to take a while," Mrs. Bryant - _Sarah_, Dean corrected himself - said, looking away at what appeared to be a family photograph on the wall. "Laura's in pieces, she and her aunt were close. I'd let her know you're here, but she barely slept last night - she needs her rest for now."

"We understand," Sam reassured her. "Would it be OK if we waited?"

"Of course!" Sarah said, too quickly, her eyes flickering back to the photograph for a moment. Dean figured she was glad to have company, even the company of strangers.

"I'm so glad you boys were there to help Laura yesterday," she said again. "I was... well, it was a shock, when I got the news."

Dean nodded, remembering how distraught she'd been when she'd arrived at the hospital. Laura was probably exhausted as much from worrying about her mother as from her own grief.

"I guess that seems silly to you... she'd already made one suicide attempt." Sarah swallowed hard. "But she was so _adamant_ that it had just been a silly accident."

"It's hard to take something like that in," Sam said neutrally. "Especially if there was no other sign. No changes in her lifestyle? New friends?"

Dean thought he was pushing a little hard, personally, but Sarah didn't seem to notice. "No," she said helplessly. "Not that I know of. I should have seen the signs... I should have been watching out for her."

"I don't think there was anything you could have done," Dean said quickly, shooting a look at Sam.

"No, you can't blame yourself - if you didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, I'm sure no one would have," Sam agreed hastily. "It sounds like the two of you were very close."

"I spent so much time with Linda when Laura and Macey were kids." She paused, staring into space. "We were never that close, growing up - she's five years older than me - but then we had our babies so close together, and, well, it made all the difference."

"It must have been good," Dean said awkwardly. "Nice for the kids, growing up with family around."

"It was." Sarah visibly pulled herself together and busied herself with making the coffee, passing them both a cup. "How about you? You're not local boys, are you? Are you college friends of Laura's?"

"We're not from around here, no," Sam admitted. "But our mom grew up near here - she went to Gracefield High School. We were in the area, and we thought we'd try to find people who knew her, old friends and such."

"Gracefield High?" Sarah said, seizing on the distraction. "That's where Linda and I both went to school. What's your mom's name? Maybe we even knew her."

"She was more your sister's age, I think," Sam said cautiously. "But maybe you'd remember. Her name was Mary... Mary Hayman. She graduated with the class of '72."

"Class of 1972? That was Linda's year, you're right." Sarah pursed her lips, thinking. "I'm afraid I didn't know her friends very well, we really weren't close back when we were at school. But... Mary, you said? Dark or fair?"

"Fair." Dean cleared his throat. "She had long blonde hair."

"Yes, I _do_ remember. At least, I'm not sure I ever knew her last name, but that would be the one who moved away after high school." She frowned suddenly. "You said she _had_ blonde hair. She's not -? But then why else would you be looking for her old friends?"

"Yeah." Dean studied his cup of coffee. "She died when we were kids."

"And we lost our dad a year ago," Sam added quietly. "That sort of made us want to... find out more about them, you know? Get in touch with their old friends, speak to people who knew them."

Dean hid a wince. He forgot sometimes just how good his brother was at blending lies with the truth.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Sarah said, her eyes filling with tears. "It's always so hard..." She swallowed and pulled herself together again. "I think she was one of my sister's friends, but she moved away after graduation, like I said. I didn't really know her myself."

"Do you maybe know any of her old friends?" Dean tried hard not to sound like he was pressing her: she might be their one good lead at the moment, but the poor woman had just lost her sister.

"Well, people sort of scattered over the years, you know? But I'm sure I can think of a few." To his relief, Sarah looked pretty OK with the idea. He guessed it was one more distraction. She brought her head up as the door creaked behind him. "Hey baby, did you sleep well?"

Dean turned to see Laura in the doorway, sporting a pair of bunny slippers which would have been hilarious if not for her drawn, tired face. She colored up at the sight of him and Sam. "Mom, you should have told me we had company."

"We just wanted to check you were OK," Sam explained. He hesitated, obviously looking for a way to avoid hanging around now they'd spoken to Sarah. "Listen, we don't want to bother you. Why don't I give you my cell number, and we can maybe meet up when you're feeling up to it."

Dean couldn't help but notice that Laura colored up even more at the suggestion; obviously she wasn't immune to the Winchester charm, even if she did have other priorities at the moment. She quickly took the sheet of paper Sam offered and backed out of the room, leaving her mom to scribble down her own note for them, listing the names of people who she thought might remember their mother.

"Here you go," Sarah said after a minute, and passed Dean the slip of paper. "I'm sorry it's not more, but hopefully they'll know more people you could speak to. It's a place to start, at least."

"Thank you," Dean said, hearing Sam murmur his own thanks. He scanned the names and then tucked the piece of paper into his pocket. The thought of speaking to people who'd known Mom suddenly seemed real, and very strange.

"We should probably be going," Sam said, interrupting his thoughts. "Thank you so much for your help, Sarah, and we're sorry for intruding at a time like this." He stood up and Dean hastily followed suit.

"No intrusion at all," Sarah assured them. "It was sweet of you boys to want to check up on Laura, I'm glad you stopped by."

Dean gave her hand a quick squeeze before he made his way to the door, relieved that she didn't seem to have been bothered by their questions. It sucked to have to pump her for information when it was already too late to help her own sister. "If we can help with anything, just give us a call."

Sarah stood in the doorway to watch as they pulled away, and Dean tried not to look at her weak smile in the rearview mirror.

* * *

"Hey."

Jerked out of his thoughts, Sam realized the car had stopped.

"Hey," Dean said again. He turned off the engine, eyes on Sam. "We're at the motel."

He looked as if he wanted to say more, but Sam got out of the car before he had the chance, distracting himself with unlocking the door to their room. Sometimes he thought it would be easier to just pick the lock than use the key the motel provided.

Dean followed him in, taking off his jacket and tossing it onto the bed. "So. I guess you're hot to start researching, huh?"

Something in his tone made Sam look at him more closely. Dean was unsettled too, he realized suddenly. It shouldn't have been a surprise: talking about Mom always made Dean a little agitated. He probably wasn't any keener to look up the people on the list Sarah had given them than Sam was.

Even if Sam's own reluctance was for different reasons.

"It shouldn't be too hard to track them down," he said aloud, keeping his voice as neutral as he could. "Sarah probably only gave us the names of people living nearby. We might even be able to just look them up in the phone book."

"Great," Dean said, with no real enthusiasm.

Sam booted up the laptop and sat down with it at the little plastic-topped table. "OK, I've found all four names in here," he said a few minutes later, breaking the silence. "All alive, all living in the area." Alive was good, at least. It was reassuring to know that there were at least a few people who'd known Mom and who hadn't been killed.

The real question was: how long would it stay that way?

"OK," Dean said. "So, uh. I guess we need to talk to them. See if anything unusual's been happening around them lately. Any unexplained urges to jump off buildings. Or visits from creepy blonde chicks with black eyes, that kind of thing. Maybe we can figure out who's behind this, stop them before they kill the rest of these people."

He wasn't exactly jumping up to rush out the door, though, and Sam was glad about that, whatever the reason.

"Or maybe..." Sam started. "Maybe we should dig a bit deeper first, find out more about these people."

Dean gave him a sharp look. "Hey, I know it feels weird. Maybe not Lawrence-weird, but weird. But these people are in danger, Sam -"

"That's just it," Sam interrupted. "We don't know that they are." He took a deep breath and added quietly, "Not unless I go near them, that is."

Dean frowned at him. "What the hell, Sammy?"

"I'm just saying," Sam said, "that maybe it's not a coincidence that Linda died a few days after we hit town."

"What, you think whatever went after her did it because _we're_ here?" Dean shook his head. "She'd already jumped off her house before we even heard about her."

"But we were already in town," Sam reminded him. "We were still investigating that possession, but she jumped the day after we got here. And then as soon as we started taking an interest, as soon as we got close..."

He stared at the names on the list for a few moments, remembering the way Laura and her mom had looked that morning. "I thought Mom's friends were dead, Dean. All of them. Now it turns out that out of the few people left who knew her, one of them died within two days of us getting close. That's a pretty big coincidence."

"Maybe," Dean said slowly, and for once Sam wasn't annoyed by the note of skepticism in his voice. "But what're you saying, Sam? That this is part of some kind of mop-up operation? The demon's dead, and from what we've heard, the rest of them are a little too busy these days to worry about cleaning up his mess. What would they even stand to gain from killing these people just because we showed up in town?"

"I don't know!" Sam said frustratedly. "But all of this... Linda dying when she did, us finding that ring... it feels like someone's trying to get at us." He thought fleetingly of the way Dean had looked up on the hospital roof. _Feels like they're trying to get at you._

"Or like another freaky coincidence," Dean argued. He squeezed Sam's shoulder briefly, making Sam feel better in spite of himself. Then his fingers tightened suddenly. "Hey, wait. It's _not_ a coincidence."

Sam rubbed his shoulder ruefully. "That's what I've been saying."

"Yeah, but - we're looking at this from the wrong angle." Dean picked up the ring from the nightstand. "Why did Dad have this thing?"

"Cause it was like Mom's, you said," Sam said slowly.

"Yeah, it's _like _Mom's." Dean slid the ring onto his finger and held it up. "But it's _not_ Mom's - look, it's not even a woman's ring. So why would Dad have found it, let alone kept it?"

"Maybe someone gave it to him," Sam said doubtfully. "To remember her by or something. Or maybe -"

"Maybe Dad got it the same way we did," Dean said. "Working a case."

Sam paused. "I guess it would explain why he left it in the lock-up."

"Out of harm's way," Dean agreed. "So let's check out that angle first. We need to see if we can track down a job around here that Dad might have worked."

"We don't have a lot to go on," Sam said doubtfully. "I don't remember reading about anything like this in his journal. You really think we stand a chance of figuring it out?"

"Well, we can narrow it down a bit," Dean said. "It must have been way back, back in the first few years after he started hunting. For one thing, I don't remember us ever coming here. But more than that..."

Sam looked at him. "What?"

"Whatever this thing is, he didn't take it out completely," Dean said. "He must have missed something. And that's not a mistake he ever made later on."

* * *

"Look at this." Sam swiveled the laptop round so Dean could see. "'Woman dies in copycat suicide'. Sounds like our thing."

Dean scanned the details quickly. "She jumped from the top of the high school? No previous signs of depression... yeah, it sounds pretty much like Linda." He felt oddly relieved: maybe they were no nearer to solving the case, but at least this proved that Sam's notion that he was some kind of harbinger of doom was bullshit.

"And look." Sam clicked through a few more pages. "Reports of graves disturbed in the cemetery the next week. I think you’re right about Dad having worked this case."

"Sounds pretty clear-cut to me," Dean agreed. "Don't suppose it says which graves were disturbed? That might save us a lot of time."

"Afraid not," Sam said. "But there's the name of the woman who died, and the first suicide too. I guess that would be a place to start checking it out."

Dean hid an approving grin. It looked like Sam was snapping out of his paranoid funk and into geekboy research mode, and Dean was all for encouraging that. "Think you could track down their families?"

"Shouldn't be too hard," Sam said, already tapping at the keyboard. Dean sat back and let him work, knowing it was the best way to let Sam distract himself.

"OK," Sam said a few minutes later. "I think I found the wife of the first suicide, she's still around here. I can't find the immediate family of the woman who was the second victim, though - maybe they moved away from the area. There might be other relatives still here, but I guess concentrating on the first victim might be our best bet for now."

"Sounds like a plan," Dean agreed. "You got an address?"

"Next town over," Sam said.

Dean clapped his brother on the back and held the contact for a moment, then got to his feet. "Let's go."

* * *

"Alice Miller?" Sam directed his friendliest smile at the woman who had opened the door.

"Can I help you?" she said warily. Sam couldn't really blame her: judging by what they'd seen of the area while they were trying to find the house, she probably had good reason to be suspicious of opening the door to strangers.

"You were formerly Alice Hughes, is that right?" he said cautiously, and was rewarded by a flicker of recognition in her eyes, although she didn't move to confirm or deny it. He was casting around for a good story when Dean stepped up beside him.

"We were wondering if you ever knew a guy called John Winchester? It would've been a long time ago, around the time you lost your husband."

Sam saw her flinch a little. "Who wants to know?"

"He was our father," Dean said.

Her expression didn't change, but she opened the door wider. "You'd better come in."

The inside of the house was a lot nicer than the outside - clean and cozy, even if it was obvious that money was tight. Alice led them through into the sitting room and offered them a seat on the couch, perching herself awkwardly on the edge of an easy-chair. "Is this... a social call?" she asked cautiously.

"Not exactly," Dean said. "We think our dad maybe helped you out with something. When your husband died?"

"He did," she admitted. "But that was a long time ago. Not that... I appreciate what your father did. But it's over and done with now, and I'd rather not dig over that again."

"The thing is..." Sam hesitated. "Well, there was a suicide a few days ago. A lady called Linda Eady? She jumped from the roof of the hospital."

The color drained from Alice's face. "He's back? But... John said he'd taken care of him. He said we were all safe now."

"Taken care of who, Alice?" Dean asked gently. "Do you know what killed your husband?"

She looked at him in bewilderment, eyes wide and frightened. "Blake killed _himself_. But that wasn't enough - he made Felicia kill herself, too. He tried to kill _me_."

_Vengeful spirit._ Sam felt a guilty sense of relief at the thought. Whatever grudge Blake was holding, he doubted it had anything to do with him and Dean. He schooled his face into a look of concern and leaned forwards. "I know this is hard for you, Alice. But could you tell us what happened back then? It's important."

Alice nodded shakily. "It all started when our daughter died." She had to swallow hard and start again. "Her name was Kelly. She was four years old at the time. A car accident... Felicia, her son was the same age, she picked him and Kelly up from playgroup. They both got out OK, but Kelly..."

"I'm sorry," Sam said softly. It seemed hopelessly inadequate, but there _was _no adequate way to respond to that grief, still so evident all these years later.

Alice took a deep breath. "Blake... went to pieces. We were both... He worked at the GFN bank in town, and a few days after Kelly's funeral, he jumped off the roof of the bank building."

"He blamed himself, I think," she added after a moment. "He wasn't really ready for kids, was too focused on his career. It was supposed to be him who picked Kelly up that day, but something came up. Something always seemed to come up. But that didn't give him the right to run away from it all and _leave me_ with all of it." Her face had drawn into tight, bitter lines.

"And that wasn't the end of it," Dean said after a moment.

"No," Alice said, shaking her head jerkily. "No. That was only the beginning. Even before he did it, he was acting crazy. Half the time he was blaming himself, the other half... Well, he'd curse Felicia for the accident, swear she hadn't been paying enough attention, that it should have been her who lost her kid." She heaved a juddering breath, then went on bitterly, "Or he'd blame me for not picking her up myself. As if I didn't blame myself for that, every day!"

"I guess that's understandable." Sam kept his tone neutral.

"Understandable!" She let out a short, mirthless laugh. "Maybe. But if he couldn't stay and face up to what had happened, he could at least have left the rest of us alone. Instead of carrying on judging us even after he was _dead_."

"You said he made Felicia kill herself," Dean prompted gently.

Alice nodded, biting her lip. "It started with small things at first. She said things moved around in her house, that sometimes she felt... _something_ watching her, something that hated her. Then... the last time we spoke, she said she felt weird, like she wasn't in control of herself. She was scared. Next day, I heard she'd jumped off the roof of the high school."

"And it wasn't suicide," Sam said, a statement, not a question.

"No," Alice confirmed. "We'd stayed in touch, after... after everything. She was upset, but she wasn't suicidal. Even if she had been, there was no reason to kill herself like _that_. No, it was Blake. I didn't know, not right away - I knew she hadn't killed herself, but I didn't know what really happened. Not until he started coming after me."

"But he didn't kill you," Dean said.

"Not for want of trying," Alice said bitterly. "I have your father to thank for the fact that he didn't. He contacted me - never said how he knew something was wrong, but he did. I didn't think anyone would believe me, didn't even really believe it myself, but he believed me. He _knew_."

Dean nodded. "Do you know what our dad did, Alice? To stop Blake?"

"He asked me where Blake was buried..." she said, looking uncomfortable. Sam guessed that she was worried _she_ would sound crazy.

"So he could burn the bones," he finished for her. "But that didn't work, did it?"

"No. I thought it had, at first. But then he came back." Alice looked downright frightened now. "And he was worse - he was so strong."

"So what did Dad do?" Dean pulled the ring out of his pocket. "Alice? Was it something to do with this?"

Alice shrank back at the sight of the ring. "Oh god. Where did - why did you bring it here? Put it away!"

Dean tucked the ring back into his pocket, nodding as if she'd confirmed a theory he'd had. "His ghost attached itself to the ring, didn't it?"

"John said - he said it was because Felicia had one too," Alice said faintly, her eyes locked to the pocket where Dean had hidden the ring. "They went to school together. John said Blake seized on it as a connection to her, because he was so obsessed with her. I mean, he hadn't even looked at the thing in years, I'd forgotten he even had it. But then I found it lying on the dresser one day - I know it wasn't there before. And then he started - attacking me -" She broke off, visibly fighting back tears.

"So our dad did something to the ring, didn't he," Sam said, as gently as he could. "Something to make Blake go away."

Alice nodded shakily. "He tried to destroy it, but it didn't work. So he did some kind of... ritual or something. I don't know. He said it was over, after that. But he took the ring with him when he went. I didn't want it anywhere near me. He said he'd put it somewhere safe."

"And Blake never bothered you after that," Sam confirmed.

"No." Alice's eyes were still fixed on Dean. "I just got on with my life. I can't tell you anything else, I'm sorry. He... he won't come after me again, will he? The ring was supposed to be safe, he wasn't supposed to be able to get to me again."

"I don't think he will," Dean reassured her. "If he was going to come after you again, I think you'd already know about it. But if you're worried, you call us, OK?"

"Thank you," she said, getting to her feet. Sam caught his brother's eye: it was clear they'd outstayed their welcome.

He scribbled down their cell numbers as Alice led the way to the door and opened it. He offered her the piece of paper as they stepped outside. "Like Dean said - call us, any time, if you think you're in danger. Or if you can think of anything else that might help." Though she'd already helped a lot, in his opinion. Not least by confirming that his concern about Dean's behavior the previous day had just been paranoia; from what Alice had said, Blake was just your typical vengeful spirit.

Alice nodded and took the scrap of paper. She looked at them both for a moment, and Sam thought she might be about to say something. But instead she just nodded, then stepped back inside and closed the door.

* * *

"So if it's just a vengeful spirit we're dealing with, this should be pretty simple." Sam helped himself to a giant forkful of Dean's egg-fried rice, ignoring his own box of noodles. "We can use that cleansing ritual I read about at Bobby's."

"Hey!" Dean grabbed a handful of oyster crackers in retaliation and retreated to a safe distance. Judging by the way Sam was vacuuming down their food, Dean guessed his brother was feeling the same relief he was that they weren't dealing with yet more fucked-up demon shit. But that didn't mean Sam could take _liberties_. "I don't know about simple, Sam. Dad obviously did a salt-and-burn _and_ a ritual, and yet here we are."

"Yeah, but..." Sam hesitated. "That was a long time ago. You said it yourself - Dad didn't know as much back then."

Dean shrugged. "Maybe not. But whatever he did worked at the time, so what the hell happened?"

Sam chewed thoughtfully. "Well... there was no EMF on the ring you found in the lock-up - it seems like Dad did manage to cleanse that one. So..."

"Blake jumped to Linda's ring," Dean finished. "And then lay low for twenty years until something or other started him off again. The reunion, maybe. I'm guessing Linda probably had the ring stuck in the back of a drawer somewhere until that came around."

"Why the rings, though?" Sam frowned. "Felicia's, OK, but it doesn't seem like Linda had anything to do with the little girl's death."

"I guess he could just have been striking out randomly," Dean said doubtfully. "Or maybe there was some reason he was able to jump to that ring, some connection between him and Linda that we're not seeing."

Sam pursed his lips. "I don't know, there doesn't seem to have been anything random about the way he went after the others. There's got to be a reason we don't know about." He paused. "Alice suggested he blamed himself, right? For not being there to look after his daughter?"

"Yeah - well, Felicia and Alice too," Dean said. "But he must have felt guilty to go and off himself."

"So maybe he blamed Linda, too, and that's why he made her kill herself," Sam suggested. "OK, so it doesn't sound like she was involved in Kelly's death. Maybe he thought she was responsible for something else, though. Like..."

Dean nodded slowly. "Like something that happened to her own daughter." He looked over at Sam. "Macey was raped. Maybe that's what he was focusing on."

Sam frowned. "I don't know, Dean. It's not like that was Linda's fault. I know ghosts aren't always rational, but going after her just because of that? Besides, he must have jumped to her ring years ago, long before that happened."

"I don't know how he managed to jump to the ring," Dean admitted. "Leave that for now. He must have had some reason for killing her. Maybe he blamed her for not protecting Macey, just like he didn't manage to protect his daughter."

Sam shook his head. "It doesn't really fit the pattern, Dean. There was fairly clear-cut blame in the case of Felicia - I mean, you can at least see the logic there. But holding Linda to blame for Macey being raped? It's a bit of a jump."

"Yeah, well, vengeful spirits aren't exactly known for their rationality," Dean pointed out. "I don't think he cares about who's really to blame, Sam. He's just taking advantage of how people feel. You heard what Alice said - it wasn't her fault their kid died, but she still blamed herself. I bet Linda felt the same way when Macey got raped - like she should've been there, should've stopped it, whatever. That's just how it works - something happens to your kid, you blame yourself."

Sam looked at him for a long moment, long enough to make him uncomfortable. "What?" Dean demanded finally.

"Nothing," Sam said. "Just - I never thought of it that way."

"Yeah, well." Dean pushed his food aside. "So are we going to try this ritual or what?"

Sam nodded, taking a last bite of his own food before setting it aside. "I think we should do it on both rings, actually. Since we still don't know what the connection was that let the ghost jump to Linda's. For all we know, the ritual might just make it jump straight back into Blake's ring."

_Blake's ring_. It was stupid: Dean had known all along that the ring couldn't have belonged to his mom, had told Sam as much. But this was the first time one of them had put it quite like that, and it felt weird. He made himself shrug it off. "Yeah, probably a good idea. We need anything special for the ritual? I'm assuming it's not the kind that has to be carried out on the third day of the new moon in a month beginning with the letter M or anything."

Sam snorted. "No, not one of those. It's pretty simple, actually. We should already have everything we'll need. I'll go grab the stuff out of the trunk - why don't you clear some floorspace in here so we can mark out a circle."

Dean nodded his agreement, and Sam headed for the door. Dean stared at the rings sitting on the table, and picked up the one he'd known hadn't belonged to his mom.

He was glad, really, that this wasn't all about her, all about their family. Enough fucked-up things had happened to them and around them and because of them. He didn't want more people to have died because of whatever goddamn grudge fate had against them. But at the same time...

At the same time, the ring had felt like a connection to her - a chance to find out more about what had happened, why the demon had chosen their family. He guessed every case they'd ever worked felt like it was about her, in some way. And although he knew it was good that this case wasn't really about her... it still felt weird.

On the plus side, though, it reduced the chances of Sam deciding it was all about _him_ and going into another massive funk. So Dean was going to call it a win.

He made himself look away from Linda's ring and... _Blake’s_ ring, and concentrate on moving furniture out of the way.

By the time Sam came back in, he'd cleared a good-sized space, which he felt was no mean feat considering the tiny size of the motel room. Sam nodded his approval and put the things he was holding down on the table. "I'll chalk out the circle, if you want to set up the candles."

The set-up didn't really take all that long: the ritual was similar enough to a few they'd done in the past that no complicated explanations were needed. When they were ready, Dean carefully placed the two rings in the centre of the circle, then stepped back to let Sam start his incantation.

Just once, he thought absently, he'd like to see a ghost respond to a ritual conducted in good old-fashioned English. It would be awesome to be able to banish a ghost just by yelling "Fuck off!".

The ritual was short, at least. Sam reached the end of his incantation and looked up expectantly. Dean frowned, and was starting to wonder if anything visible was going to happen when all of a sudden the candles blew out, smoke spreading across the room.

He waved it away from his face and looked across at Sam. "That meant to happen?"

Sam was frowning in a way that wasn't entirely reassuring. "I'm not sure."

"You're not _sure_?" Dean said. "Dude."

"Look, why don't we check the rings for EMF now," Sam suggested hastily. "That should give us an idea of whether it worked."

Dean shot him a baleful look, but fetched one of the EMF meters and carefully scanned both of the rings. The device made a squealing noise once, but when Dean moved it back to check again, it was silent. "Probably just a temporary side-effect of the ritual," he suggested. "Seems to be clean now, at any rate."

"I guess so." Sam still looked dubious.

"You know any other way of checking?" Dean asked. "Another ritual?"

Sam shook his head. "Not that I've ever heard of."

"Then we'll do it the old-fashioned way," Dean decided. "Stick around a few days, keep an eye out for anything weird. We've still got that list Sarah gave us - we can start there, see if Blake tried targeting any of his other friends." He picked up one of the rings, turning it over in his hand. _See if any of them can tell us about Mom. _The thought still seemed weird, but not quite as unsettling as it had before.

Dean shoved the ring into his pocket and pulled on his boots. "Okay. Let's get going."

* * *

"Two-fifteen, two-sixteen... two-twenty. This is the one." Sam checked the name on the door against the one on their list. "Dr. Elizabeth Hanton. It doesn't look like she's in, though."

Dean pointed to a sign tacked up next to the door. "Office hours three through five. We can wait."

Sam nodded in agreement, settling himself on one of the chairs opposite. He stared idly at the notices pinned up on the wall: course details and advertisements for student events; a couple of news articles about Dr. Hanton's research.

Dean stayed on his feet, wandering up the hall a little way to stand by the window. He stared out at the view, idly flipping the catch of the window back and forth.

Sam turned his attention back to the bulletin board. Looked like Dr. Hanton was a pretty big name in her field, especially for a small-town college like this one. He was halfway through reading an article about some overseas fellowship she'd won when he registered that the tap-tap of the window catch had stopped, and turned to find that his brother had swung the window open instead, and was craning his neck out of it. "Seen something interesting?"

Dean pulled his head back in and wandered back to the bulletin board. "Naw. Just... nice place." He picked at the curled-up corner of one of the notices, avoiding Sam's eye.

"Yeah." Sam moved to stand next to his brother. "Easy to see why Laura picked a school close to home."

Dean nodded, and didn't say anything.

Sam looked at him more closely, but before he had the chance to speak, they were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching along the hallway.

"Dr. Hanton?" he asked.

The woman was fumbling for her keys, a jumble of folders and files balanced under one arm. "I'll be right with you, I just need to... ah." She brandished her keys triumphantly and unlocked the door, nudging it open with her foot and heading inside. "Come on in, you two."

Sam followed her into the office, feeling Dean close behind him. The office wasn't particularly large, the shelves of books and overflowing bulletin board giving it the same comfortably crowded feel Sam remembered from his tutor's office at Stanford.

Dr. Hanton settled herself at her desk, gesturing to them to take a seat. "So what can I do for you? I'm afraid if you were looking to enroll on my Critical Theory course, I really can't take any more students."

She caught the expression on Dean's face and laughed. "You don't look disappointed. There's still space on the cyberpunk course, if you're interested. Unless..." She colored slightly. "I'm sorry, you're probably graduate students, aren't you?"

"We're not students," Dean said.

"But we're hoping you can help us," Sam put in hastily. "Did you go to Gracefield High School? We think maybe you were friends with our mom. Mary Hayman?"

Dr. Hanton's face lit up. "You're Mary's sons? My goodness, it's hard to believe that she could have kids as grown-up as you two. I haven't seen her since we left high school. It's silly, isn't it - even though I know how old _I've_ gotten, I still think of her as eighteen. How's she doing?"

"She died," Dean said quietly. "Back when we were kids."

Dr. Hanton paled. "Oh god, I'm so sorry. I had no idea. We lost touch after she moved away, and..." She shook her head. "What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

"There was a fire," Sam said, and left it at that. "We were in the area and realized she went to school around here; we just figured it would be nice to track down a few of her old friends."

"I see," Dr. Hanton said. "Well, what would you like to know? Mary was a friend, a good friend."

"Well..." Sam faltered. It should have been easy: he'd spent most of his life wondering about his mom. Now that he was faced with someone who actually wanted to answer his questions, though, he hardly knew where to begin. "What was she like?" he finished lamely.

Dr. Hanton gave him an understanding look. "Oh, she had a wicked sense of humor. I remember at our graduation party, she switched out the jocks' beer for the non-alcoholic stuff. We all had a fine time drinking their beer and watching them convince themselves they were falling-down drunk."

Her smile faltered slightly. "That was one of the last times I saw her, though I didn't realize it would be at the time. We all had great intentions of staying close to each other after graduation, hanging out, but you know how these things go. And she moved away not long after that."

She forced a brighter smile again. "She was beautiful that night, you should have seen her. She had her hair all done up, but by the end of the night she'd pulled it all down again. This whole group of us kind of took off from the main party and hung out together - took off our evil high heels and just hung out and laughed. Your mom always laughed a lot."

"She _was_ beautiful." Dean agreed. "I can remember her laughing."

"I was always sorry to have lost touch with her," Dr. Hanton said. "You're so sure you'll be friends for life at that age, aren't you? I remember we even made a pact - we were so serious. But then life overtook us, I guess. I went off to college, and other people got jobs, got married... Lisa Marchant was already pregnant by the time we graduated, and a few of the others weren't far behind her. I guess your mom married pretty young, really." She smiled wryly. "I hope her marriage was a happier one than mine."

"Yeah, it was." Dean smiled slightly in response.

Dr. Hanton nodded. "I'm glad," she murmured. She paused, her eyes widening. "Oh, damn - listen, would you mind excusing me for a couple of minutes? I've a contract here I really need to send off, it's urgent. Two minutes is all it'll take. I'd really like to chat to you both for a bit longer, if you don't mind waiting..."

"Sure, Dr. Hanton," Sam said. "No problem." He felt a little relieved, if he was honest. Hearing someone talk about his mom like this - well, it was good, but also... intense. Having a moment to themselves to regroup a little wasn't the worst idea.

Dr. Hanton waved a hand dismissively. "Call me Elizabeth, please." She got to her feet, rummaging among the papers on her desk until she emerged with a thick envelope. "Make yourself comfortable, guys - the secretary's office is just down the hall, I'll be back in a minute." She smiled at them and disappeared out the door.

Sam stared blindly at the books on the shelf next to him. He wanted to talk to his brother, ask Dean... what he remembered, if anyone had ever told him stories about Mom before, if he was OK. Sam wanted so badly to hear more about her, had wanted it for as long as he could remember, but it was hard, too.

Dean was sitting beside him, rigid and unnaturally still, and Sam didn't quite dare to look across at him. All the things he wanted to talk to his brother about, but he didn't have the first clue what to say.

Dean got abruptly to his feet, pacing across behind Dr. Hanton's desk to peer at her bulletin board. Sam wondered if he was actually seeing it.

"Seems like she enjoys her job," Dean said, his voice far too casual. "Course, she probably never leaves her office, going by the amount of stuff she has pinned up here -"

"Dean," Sam said softly.

His brother's shoulders slumped. "Yeah," he said, almost too low to be heard, and sat back down next to Sam again. Sam shifted in his seat, his arm pressing against Dean's. After a moment Dean leaned into him a little, brushing his knuckles against the back of Sam's hand. They sat in silence for a few minutes, and Sam felt his own tension recede as his brother gradually relaxed.

"She's a nice lady," Sam offered after a while. "I kinda like the idea of her having been Mom's friend, you know?"

"Yeah." Dean still didn't look at him, but Sam saw him smile a little. "It's pretty funny to think of Mom pranking all the jocks, isn't it?"

Sam laughed. "Mom, prank war queen. You think -" He broke off as something caught his eye. "Hey... that's weird."

Dean followed his gaze. "What? Dr. Hanton doesn't follow a tidy desk policy?"

"No," Sam said slowly. "But still, I wasn't really expecting her to keep her old class ring here."

Dean stared at it, then met his eyes. "She's been gone kind of a long time."

Sam glanced uneasily at the clock. "Maybe she got sidetracked?"

His brother was already on his feet. "_Shit_. We've got to get to the roof."

* * *

Dean hurried out into the hallway, heading in the direction Dr. Hanton had indicated when she'd mentioned seeing the secretary. It wasn't hard to spot the office: a cluttered open-plan room fronted by a long reception desk. Facing right out onto the elevators.

The receptionist looked up at the sound of Dean's running feet, mouth opening in indignation. He cut her protests off. "You see where Dr. Hanton went?"

"She took the elevator -" the woman began. Dean's eyes went to the elevator display, standing at 8, and he ran for the doors to the stairwell instead.

He pounded up the stairs, cursing inwardly. He should have known that this job couldn't be as simple as cleansing the rings. Maybe Dad had been inexperienced back then, but they'd known he'd tried cleansing one ring. The fact that it hadn't worked should have been a warning sign.

He rounded a turning and came out onto a new floor, hallway leading off into the main building. Five floors to go. He could hear Sam's footsteps below, but he only paused for a second before starting up the next flight.

Taking steps two and three at a time was always easier if you were going down them. Or if you were a long-legged freak like Sam, Dean mentally added as he rounded the next turning and kept on going. But waiting for the elevator hadn't been an option.

Jesus, she'd seemed fine when they'd been speaking to her. She was a nice lady. What the hell had she done to deserve this? Had they caused it by visiting her?

One story left. Dean put on an extra burst of speed, ignoring the faint trickle of sweat forming on his back, and burst out of the door and onto the roof.

At first glance it seemed like he'd been wrong. The wide expanse of concrete was empty, just a few discarded candy wrappers to show that people ever came up here at all.

Then he saw her: a lone figure half-obscured by one of the tall ventilation stacks. She was stooped awkwardly, and it took him a moment to realize she was bending to pull off her shoe. She set it neatly on the ground next to its partner, and straightened up, fitting one toe into a crevice in the brickwork.

"Dr. Hanton!" he yelled. "Elizabeth!"

* * *

Running up six flights of stairs was one thing. Trying to catch up with Dean while chanting in Latin was quite another.

Sam kept going as fast as he could, murmuring the words of the cleansing ritual, breathing hard between phrases. He wasn't sure how effective it would be without the circle and the candles, with him only half-focused, but it was the only plan he'd come up with so far. He clenched the ring more tightly in his fist and took the next flight of steps three at a time, timing his words to his footsteps to give himself a rhythm.

He heard the sound of a door slamming open above and knew Dean had made it to the roof. He picked up speed at the thought of his brother up there alone, and tried to chant faster. But he needed more time.

He was still racing through the ritual when he pushed through the door and found himself on the roof. It only took him a moment to spot Elizabeth Hanton climbing up onto the wall at the far edge.

_Shit._

Dean was already running towards her, yelling her name, telling her to resist it. Elizabeth didn't even turn, though, let alone pause. Sam stopped in his tracks, knowing there was no way he could reach her in time.

He tightened his grip on the ring instead and concentrated on rushing through the rest of the incantation as quickly as he could, trying to keep the words distinct. His eyes never left Elizabeth as he chanted.

Dean was closing in on her fast, running full speed. Sam could still hear him yelling, but he tuned the words out to focus on the Latin instead - and reached the end of the ritual in a rush.

He _felt_ something as he finished it, something that made him gulp in a deep breath of his own and open his mouth to call out -

Elizabeth stepped off the edge of the building.

Whatever Sam had been about to yell was cut off. He saw Dean lunge forward desperately, reaching the edge of rooftop a moment too late and slamming his fist down on the brickwork.

God. God, she'd just -

Dean leaned forward precariously, trying to look down, then started climbing up onto the brickwork himself. Sam felt the breath rush out of him.

"Dean!"

He took an involuntary couple of steps forward, expecting Dean to step back, or to look round and tell him not to be such a dumbass. But Dean gave no sign he'd heard him, just slowly climbed up until he was standing on top of the brickwork.

_I'm being paranoid_, Sam told himself. _There's no way_ -

Even if he had just performed a cleansing ritual on the ring and forced the spirit to... go elsewhere.

"_Dean_!" Sam yelled, and abandoned all his rationalizations in favor of running towards his brother.

The five seconds or so it took him to cross the roof seemed interminable. Sam grabbed a fistful of Dean's shirt, trying to drag him down, away from the edge. For a moment, Dean seemed to resist him, standing firm, but Sam tugged harder, unable to breathe, until suddenly Dean let himself be dragged back, sending them both tumbling, rolling across the ground.

"What the hell, Sam?" Dean blinked up at him, looking slightly dazed.

Sam tightened his hold on his brother, both an embrace and a restraint. "Dean, you were practically ready to jump off the roof." He was too shaken even to get mad.

"I was _what_?" Dean twisted around, half trying to get away, then stilled at Sam's catch of breath. "Sam, no. I was just trying to stop her..."

"At first, maybe," Sam said. He barely recognized his own voice. "But then you climbed up on the wall and..."__

"I was -" Dean cut himself off, then said, slowly, "You think - you think the spirit..."

"Jesus, Dean," Sam said, trying to get his own breathing under control.

Dean stared up at him, then patted his arm. "Calm down, dude. Look, I don't know what just happened, but there's no reason why the ghost would suddenly go after me now, OK? Maybe you just... overreacted and -"

Sam pressed his brother down hard into the concrete. "Overreacting? You think I'm _overreacting_, Dean? It's not something sudden! You were leaning halfway out that window downstairs! You dragged me up to the hospital roof! You _jumped_ off the roof of that goddamn house! You damn well nearly jumped just now, and you tell me I'm overreacting?"

"Sam," Dean said quietly. "Hey. Sam."

"Don't," Sam gritted out, tightening his grip on his brother. Dean didn't flinch, but his breathing quickened, hot against Sam's mouth. "Just... don't, Dean."

Dean's mouth snapped shut, but he didn't look away.

"Come on," Sam said, his voice tight and strained. He got to his feet, pulling Dean up with him, not letting go of his brother for a moment. "Down from here. Now."


	3. Chapter 3

The drive back to the motel was mostly a blur. Dean wasn't aware of much beyond the tightness of Sam's grip on the steering wheel; he was too busy trying to think back, figure out whether and when Blake might have been influencing him. And why.

He would’ve liked to shrug the whole thing off, the way he had up on the roof. He'd gone up there intending to save Elizabeth Hanton, not to kill himself. Except...

Except Sam was right: he'd been a second or two away from stepping off that wall. Even before that, now he thought about it, there'd been an edge of something _not-him_ urging him up onto the roof. Something - _Blake_ \- had wanted him up there.

Sam stopped the car, waiting silently until Dean had undone his seat belt before stepping out himself.

Dean let his brother unlock the door to the motel room, but Sam stepped aside to allow him to enter first, and Dean did so absently, still trying to figure out what had really been going on.

"So, why do you think..." he started to ask, more to break the silence than anything else, but trailed off as Sam turned and _looked_ at him with the intensity of his full attention.

Sam held his gaze for a long moment, then turned, slow and deliberate, and closed the door behind them.

"We should -" Dean began, and then Sam was kissing him, hard and urgent and hungry, one hand wrapped round his face like Sam was afraid he'd get away.

Dean kissed him back, bringing his hand up to tangle with Sam's fingers in silent reassurance, 'cause he wasn't going anywhere, _hell no_. Not now, not until -

Sam tightened his other arm around Dean's waist as if he'd heard the thought, a low sound escaping him as he pulled Dean's hips up against his, grinding them together.

Dean felt his dick swell hard and full in response, and _oh yeah_, they both needed this. _Still got a case_, he thought distantly, but it was drowned out by the rush of _Sam_ as his brother bit down on the curve of his jaw, hot mouth sliding down to worry at the thin skin of his pulse.

"Sam," Dean muttered, sliding a hand up to tangle in his brother's hair, gripping tighter than he should. "Sam -"

Sam kissed him again, fiercely, stealing away the words and his breath with them, and Dean let it all go. The hunger in Sam's kiss, in the tight grip of his hands against Dean's hips, barely masked the frantic _need_ underneath, and Dean knew that feeling, chapter and verse. He let Sam kiss him, let him take what he needed, and kissed back just as hard, letting his own need take over. His grip on Sam's hair had to be painful now, but Sam just gave a muffled sound of _want_ and pressed closer.

Dean forced himself to loosen his grip, sliding his hand down to press against Sam's back instead, urging his brother against him. They kept kissing, messy and frantic, hands working blindly under clothing to find bare skin. Finally Dean pulled back long enough to shuck his shirt off, tugging Sam's layers of clothing up over his head.

The sight of the black ink of the tattoo on Sam's chest still caught Dean off-guard, not yet fully familiar even months later. He bent and pressed his lips to it, tracing the lines with his tongue, learning it again. He didn't miss Sam's sharp intake of breath, or the way his brother's hand trailed down to press against Dean's own tattoo.

Dean turned his head, letting his cheek rest briefly against the beat of Sam's heart before sucking more kisses into his brother's skin. Sam gasped again when Dean ran his tongue over the peak of his nipple, and Dean kept going, breathing in the scent of Sam, musky and familiar.

Then he was suddenly being slammed against the wall, Sam pressing in close, his eyes sharp with want. Before Dean had a chance to process what was happening, Sam had dropped to his knees and was tugging sharply at Dean's pants, ripping them down impatiently.

His mouth closed hot and sudden around Dean's cock, only the weight of his hand preventing the reflexive surge of Dean's hips. Dean gasped as Sam moaned in response, the sound vibrating through Dean's dick. Sam pulled back for a moment, tongue flickering over the head of Dean's cock before he started sucking in earnest.

Dean let his head fall back against the wall as he surrendered to the sensation, knees almost too weak to hold him. He could feel sweat beading on his forehead and gathering at the nape of his neck as he concentrated on breathing, aware that Sam's hands were almost all that was holding him upright, and way too far gone to give a damn.

He let out a sound of protest when Sam pulled away, hips bucking helplessly after his brother's mouth. Sam surged to his feet and covered Dean's body with his own, pressing up against him and kissing him, hard and forceful and all too brief. He pulled away again and stepped back, regarding Dean with dark, hungry eyes. "On the bed. Now."

Dean was more than happy to comply, ridding himself of what remained of his clothes with clumsy hands.

Sam stripped off his own clothes with quick, decisive movements, eyes never leaving Dean. "I'm gonna... Oh, fuck, _Dean_." He trailed one hand reverently down Dean's spine before bearing him down to the bed, palm warm and heavy in the centre of Dean's back.

Dean couldn't suppress the shiver that ran through him. That hand against his spine was the only place Sam was touching him, but he could feel his brother's heat radiating against him as Sam leaned closer, hovering just above his back. Close enough for Dean to feel the warmth of his brother's breath between his shoulder blades, and then Sam's mouth was pressed to the back of his neck, licking away the beads of sweat, tongue hot against Dean's skin. Dean gritted his teeth to keep from moaning, his hands clenching in the sheets.

He lay still and tense when Sam moved away, panting for breath, and then a sound was ripped from his throat as Sam's tongue dipped hot and wet into the crease of his ass. Sam's hands closed around his hips, jerking him up onto his knees so that Sam could press his face in closer, soft-hard slickness of his tongue fucking into Dean.

_Jesus._

Dean couldn't think, couldn't do anything but hold on, couldn't care less about the broken, desperate noises he was making. Sam's tongue pressed deeper, and Dean let his head fall down against the covers, too hot all over, needing the sensation of the scratchy material against his forehead to cope with it.

It was almost a relief when the maddening softness of Sam's tongue was replaced by the firm pressure of his fingers. Dean pushed back against his brother's hand, feeling himself open easily while Sam whispered, "Yeah, c'mon, like that," half-coherent encouragements and endearments spilling out hot against Dean's skin.

Dean couldn't stop his broken moan when Sam finally withdrew his fingers. He dropped his head to the sheets again, focusing on breathing for the seemingly endless time it took Sam to roll on a condom. Then at last Sam's hands were on his hips, on his ass, and _fuck yes_.

Sam eased into him agonizingly slowly, bowing his body over Dean's as he finally slid home. He bit softly at the nape of Dean's neck, his breath coming quick and urgent, then withdrew and thrust in again, harder. He set up a steady rhythm, thrusting into Dean until Dean groped desperately for his own cock, throbbing heavy and neglected between his legs.

Sam nipped again at Dean's shoulder and wrapped his own hand around Dean's, tangling their fingers around Dean's dick. Dean gave a strangled groan, feeling his body tense up, coiling tight. He could hear Sam breathing against his ear, their bodies locked together, could feel Sam _everywhere_, and oh, fuck, _fuck_ -

"Dean," Sam said in his ear, his voice tight with arousal, "god, Dean, c'mon -" His fingers tightened their grip around Dean's cock, and Dean cried out, shaking all over as the orgasm hit him, Sam's hand on his hip all that was holding him up.

He felt Sam shudder a moment later, and his knees gave way, Sam's weight bearing him down to the bed.

They lay motionless, breathing hard, and then Dean shifted a little, pushing Sam off him. His brother pulled away carefully, returning after a minute to pull Dean close against his chest. Dean leaned his head back against his brother's solid warmth, aching and sated.

Neither of them spoke, but Dean felt Sam splay his hand out across his chest, covering the tattoo. He reached up and pressed his fingers against Sam's, silent reassurance. _Still here._

* * *

Sam held onto his brother, feeling the beat of Dean's heart steady under his fingers. It was tempting just to stay that way, keep Dean there safe for as long as possible. But the case was still there, unsolved, and as long as it stayed that way, the feeling of safety was illusory at best.

Sam pressed a kiss to the nape of Dean's neck and forced himself to peel away from his brother. Maybe they still hadn't solved this thing, but he was damn sure going to make it as difficult as possible for Blake to get at either of them. The thought gave him new urgency, and he pulled on his clothes quickly, heading for his duffel to grab the things he needed.

He set out the candles on the same points they'd stood earlier, quickly rechalking the marks. "Dean, where's the ring?" Sam didn't wait for his brother's answer, already digging through the pockets of Dean's jacket.

Dean sat up, pulling on his own clothes. "Sam, what the hell?"

Sam checked another pocket. "The ring, Dean, the one you were carrying. Where is it?"

Dean tugged on his shirt, still keeping an eye on him. "Why?"

Sam stared at him unflinchingly until Dean finally sighed and reached into the pocket of his jeans, taking out the ring. Sam reached out for it, but Dean pulled it out of reach. "Why, Sam? And quit looking at me like that."

Sam watched his brother carefully. "Give me the ring, Dean."

"Oh for fuck's sake, Sam, this isn't some kind of sign that I'm possessed or something," Dean said. He sounded exasperated. "It's just never a good sign when you jump out of bed and start chalking symbols on the floor. Talk to me."

"The rings are affecting you," Sam said bluntly. "I need to do the cleansing ritual again, on all of them. I think maybe that bought us time before, that's why you didn't... But we've got Elizabeth Hanton's ring now too, and we need to deal with that."

Dean jammed the ring back into his pocket, shaking his head. "No. No way, Sam. We're not doing that again."

Sam grabbed hold of his brother's arm, not sure whether he wanted to plead with Dean or fight with him. "This is exactly what I'm talking about! Dean, that's how Blake's controlling people. If we cleanse all the rings again -"

"If we cleanse _all_ of them, yeah." Dean stared stubbornly up at Sam, jaw set. "That's the point, Sam. We don't _have_ all of them. Who knows how many rings are out there for Blake to skip into. The last time we did that ritual, it sent him rocketing straight after Elizabeth."

"We don't know that," Sam argued. He could hear the unconvincing note in his own voice. "Blake had already gone after Linda. Maybe he would've stepped up his attacks no matter what we did."

"Yeah, well. I'm not taking that chance." Dean sighed and leaned into Sam's touch on his arm. "I'm sorry, Sam. But we've gotta find another way."

Sam relaxed his hold on his brother a little and sat down on the bed. "OK. At least for now." Privately, he resolved that if it looked like Blake was coming after Dean again he'd perform that ritual, risk or no risk. "It would help if we really understood the pattern here. Why pick Dr. Hanton? Did she even have kids?"

"Yeah." Sam looked at his brother in surprise, and Dean shrugged. "She had a picture up on her wall. High school graduation. It wasn't her, so..."

"Huh," Sam said, and thought about it. "We should probably look into that, see if we can figure out exactly what made Blake go after her. And we're still going to need a way to deal with him, Dean - because you’re right, trying to track down all of those rings is _really_ a last resort."

"Tell me about it," Dean agreed. "I think I'm going to call Bobby, see if he has any ideas." He moved away, picking up his cell, absent-mindedly fastening the buttons of his shirt with his free hand.

Sam tore his eyes away from the sight of the stark lines of Dean's tattoo disappearing behind the shirt, and cleared his throat. "I'll, uh, make a start on the research."

He wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of Dean stepping outside to call Bobby, particularly not when he still had one of those damn rings in his pocket, but Dean only crossed to sit on the other bed, and Sam relaxed somewhat and turned his attention to booting up his laptop.

It wasn't too difficult to find information about Dr. Hanton online - the first hit brought up her departmental homepage - but most of it was about her work, detailing books she'd written and conferences she'd attended. Sam recognized one or two articles from the bulletin board outside her office. He dug a little deeper, searching for details about her personal life, and was rewarded with an in-depth interview which had appeared in a campus magazine.

_How difficult is it balancing motherhood and academia?_ the interviewer had asked.

Dr. Hanton's answer had been long and involved, but one line stood out. _I'm lucky in that my ex-partner was enthusiastic about being the primary care-giver._ Huh. If Blake had been looking for 'bad parents', Sam was willing to bet that a mom who'd put her career before her kids fit his criteria, no matter what the kids might have thought about the idea. Especially if Dean was right and it was guilt that let Blake get his claws into people.

So. If they were looking for potential victims, then people with kids were the most likely. Which didn't narrow it down much, Sam had to admit. Especially as Blake didn't seem to have any scruples about going after Dean, either, and his brother didn't have any kids. At least, probably not.

Sam shook that thought aside. They could figure out Blake's motive later – stopping him was the most important thing. He looked down the list of names that Sarah had given them, wondering where to start.

One name jumped out at him: _Lisa Marchant_. He searched his memory for how he knew her, and remembered what Dr. Hanton had said. _Lisa Marchant was already pregnant..._

It was as good a place to start as any.

Sam's attention was caught by Dean lowering his voice. "And, uh, what exactly would that involve?" his brother was saying. Sam looked up, but Dean had turned away, and he couldn't read much from the line of his back.

"OK," Dean said, and Sam forced himself to turn back to his own research. He'd make Dean tell him about it when he hung up, no matter what his brother was thinking of trying to keep from him.

Lisa Marchant wasn't too hard to track down. He checked the high school reunion website he'd found earlier, hoping to find out if she'd married or changed her name, and found her on the list of participants. Her name hadn't changed, which simplified things. Apparently she was still living in the area, working at GFN Bank.

The name of the bank rang a bell, and Sam frowned, trying to place it. He clicked into the reunion reports while he thought about it, scrolling slowly past messages and old photos, keeping an eye out for her name, pausing at a picture of her at the reunion, laughing next to Linda and someone he didn't recognize. And then the photo below it, of Lisa at what seemed to be a school party, one hand pressed to her bump, smiling shyly at the camera.

"OK, thanks, Bobby," Dean said. "Yeah, you too." He hung up and turned round. "Find anything?"

"Dr. Hanton did have children, but it looks like they live with her ex," Sam said. "I've been trying to figure out who else might be at risk. What about you? Did Bobby have any suggestions?"

"Yeah, there's another ritual we can do." Dean started rummaging through their duffel. "Bobby says we can call Blake back to his own ring, kind of like we did with Bloody Mary, remember? Once we've got him tied to one ring, we can deal with him properly."

"OK," Sam said slowly. He stared at the picture of Lisa Marchant, thinking it out. "That makes sense. I guess when Dad banished him from that ring, he got kind of spread out... Oh, no. No way, Dean."

"What now?" Dean was doing his best to look confused, but Sam could tell he already knew what he was talking about.

"We drag Blake back into the ring that you've got, and he's gonna be twice as strong and twice as pissed off." Sam swung round to meet his brother's eyes. "He's already tried to get at you - this is like issuing him a fucking invitation."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah, well. At least I'll know he's coming. None of the other poor suckers stand a chance."

"No. No way," Sam said flatly. "Not an option, Dean. Look, we'll find something else, OK? Maybe we can find a way to adapt the cleansing ritual to -" He broke off as something he'd been trying to remember suddenly occurred to him. "The bank."

Dean stared at him. "...What?"

"The bank," Sam repeated, the words tripping over each other in his rush of realization. "It's the same - OK, Alice told us that Blake worked at GFN Bank, right? One of the people Elizabeth mentioned, Lisa Marchant, she works there now."

"And... you think that makes her the next target?" Dean said slowly.

"That, and the fact that she was pregnant when they graduated," Sam reminded him, clicking back to the reunion page and turning the laptop around to let Dean see the photo. "If we're right that the pledge they made to protect each other has something to do with what's going on... I think it's worth checking out, man."

Dean studied the photos, then leaned back and met Sam's eyes. "Better check it out fast, too - it doesn't seem like Blake's wasting any time. You got an address?"

Sam took the laptop back, his hands flying over the keys. "Yeah, home address - and the address of the bank, too, that may be our best bet."

"Fine," Dean said grimly, pulling on his boots. "Let's go."

* * *

The bank was the kind of grey, modern building that always gave Dean the creeps. He refused to let it show, though: he and Sam walked in confidently, like they belonged there, and the security guard frowned but didn't challenge them.

"Third floor," Dean murmured under his breath, scanning the list of office numbers on the wall. "Stairs." There was less chance of the guard having second thoughts and asking them what they were doing there if they kept on moving rather than standing waiting for an elevator.

Lisa Marchant's office wasn't hard to find, but when they tapped on the door, the woman there didn't look anything like the photo they'd seen on the website.

"Can I help you?" she asked politely, though she looked somewhat distracted.

"Ms. Marchant?" Sam asked.

The woman looked distressed. "No, I'm sorry. She's - there was an accident."

"Something happened to Lisa?" Dean asked sharply. Crap, if they were already too late, if they'd wasted time back at the motel...

"No, no. Not Lisa," the woman said, and Dean relaxed a little. Only to snap to attention again when she clarified, "It was her son."

"What happened?" he asked urgently. "Where's Lisa now?"

"She's gone to the hospital. They called and said she needed to come quickly." She gulped back tears. "It sounded bad. Lisa was - she'll be devastated if she loses Will."

"Which hospital?" Sam demanded.

"I - I'm not sure," the woman said helplessly, looking from Dean to Sam. "She didn't say, she was in such a rush -"

"Thanks," Dean said, heading for the door, Sam close beside him.

Out in the hallway, they looked at each other. "You think..." Sam started.

"Yeah," Dean said grimly, picking up his pace. "C'mon."

Sam caught his arm, jerking him to a halt. "Dean, wait."

Dean stared at him. "Sam, we don't have time for -"

"You can't go up there," Sam said.

"_What_?" Dean asked, hearing the edge in his voice.

Sam's jaw was set in a way that he was far too familiar with. "We don't have time to argue about this, Dean - you've got to stay here, it's too dangerous for you to go up to the roof -"

"This woman's _life_ is at risk," Dean said dangerously.

"So is yours!" Sam's voice veered into a shout, drawing a curious look from someone in a nearby office. "Look at what happened at the university," he said more quietly. "As soon as Blake was... finished with Elizabeth he turned on you. I'm not letting you take that risk, Dean."

Dean took a deep breath to continue arguing, then blew it out instead. "Fine. If that's what you want."

Sam seemed surprised by his sudden capitulation. "OK, good." He looked as if he would have liked to press Dean further, but they both knew there was no time. "Listen, start calling round the hospitals, see where they took Lisa's son. If she's not still here, we might need to know."

Dean nodded in agreement. He cast a cautious glance around, then pulled Sam in for a quick kiss. "Be careful, dumbass."

Sam gave him one last searching look, then turned and headed for the stairs, breaking into a run.

Dean watched him go, then headed for the exit himself, Blake's ring weighing cold and heavy in his pocket.

* * *

Sam ran up the stairs, mind working furiously. The truth was, he was far from sure that he would be able to help Lisa, even if his hunch that she was up on the roof was right. They hadn't been able to do anything for Elizabeth, after all, and they'd had her ring to work with. This time they didn't even have that.

He redoubled his pace. If he got there before she'd made it to the edge of the roof, maybe brute force would be enough.

He thought fleetingly of the way Dean had looked, scrambling onto the edge of the university roof, and felt grateful that he'd managed to persuade his brother to stay on solid ground. Maybe he _wouldn't_ be able to do anything for Lisa. But at least Dean was safe.

It was cold up on the rooftop when he finally burst out of the stairwell, the sun edging towards the horizon. He saw Lisa immediately, walking calmly towards the edge of the building, and he picked up speed.

He had to run flat-out to cover the ground between them, finally managing to put himself between her and the edge. Lisa didn't hesitate, and for a moment he thought she'd just keep walking, the blank look in her eyes making him suspect she didn't even see him. He caught her arms, holding on tightly as she tried to veer away. She'd have bruises in the morning, but he couldn't take the risk Blake would lose patience and make her run right off the edge. If she was alive to complain about the bruises in the morning, he'd be counting it as a win.

"Lisa," he said urgently. "_Lisa_, stop. You don't want to do this."

She didn't respond, just writhed against his grasp with surprising strength, trying to get to the edge.

Sam held on grimly. "Come on, Lisa. Wake up. This isn't you, you don't want to die. Your son needs you."

She stilled for a second, and he saw her focus on him, a look of shock and fear in her eyes. It was only a moment, and then the blank look came back down and she struggled again, almost succeeding in dragging her arm away.

"_Lisa_," Sam said again, desperately searching for something else to try. "Lisa, you can beat this, come on. You don't need to do this." She was being controlled, but she wasn't possessed; he didn't think an exorcism or cleansing ritual would work, not on her. On her ring, maybe, but he'd no idea where it was - and performing that ritual would put Dean in even more danger.

What did that leave?

Lisa fought against him, nearly breaking free of his grasp -

\- And then suddenly went limp, slumping against his chest.

Sam didn't loosen his grip, just pushed her away far enough to see her face. Lisa looked slightly dazed, but no longer in a blank way. Now she looked confused and terrified, and her eyes were very wide when they met his.

"What... Who are you?" She struggled again, but this time without the uncanny strength she'd had before. "What are you doing to me?"

Sam released her, but didn't step away. "You don't remember?"

"I was at work... there was a phone call." A look of horror came over her. "Oh god, Will. There was an accident. Why aren't I with him?"

"You came up here; you were about to jump." Sam looked at her closely. "You don't remember any of this?"

"No," she said faintly. "I must have been in shock. And you saved me. God, thank you." Sam tensed as she stepped back, out of his reach, but she was heading for the stairs. "I have to go, I'm sorry. My son -"

Sam let her go, biting at his lip. She was OK, that much was clear, but he wasn't so sure he'd saved her. If she hadn't given up fighting when she had -

_Crap_. Sam hurried towards the stairs himself. Blake wasn't targeting Lisa any more - so _where was he_?

He overtook Lisa on the stairs pretty quickly, mumbling an apology as he rushed past her. It took a few minutes for him to make it back to the third floor, frowning when he saw that Dean wasn't waiting for him in the stairwell.

He checked the hallway, even stuck his head into Lisa's office. No sign of his brother.

Sam pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed-dial for Dean, taking the steps three at a time back down to the ground floor as he listened to the sound of Dean's phone ringing. Maybe his brother had felt he was attracting attention, hanging around inside, and gone to wait outside the bank instead.

That didn't explain why he wasn't answering his damn phone, though.

Sam finally emerged from the bank just as Dean's phone switched over to voicemail. He swore under his breath and stared around, backtracking to where they'd left the car. It was still there.

Dean wasn't.

_Oh, fuck._

Sam tried to make himself calm down and think. Something had obviously happened; there was no way Dean would ignore his phone in a situation like this. But it probably wasn't to do with Blake, because he'd been controlling Lisa -

\- _Oh, Jesus, Dean, what did you do?_

His mind replayed Dean's sudden agreement when Sam had insisted that he wait downstairs. The unexpected kiss. The way Lisa had suddenly gone limp, whatever had been controlling her just... _gone_.

Dean had performed the ritual Bobby had told him about, pulled Blake into his own ring and sealed him there. And left himself wide open in the process.

Sam looked around wildly. He hadn't passed Dean on the stairs, which meant Blake had to have taken him somewhere else. _Where?_

He forced himself to breathe deeply, looking for places tall enough to - _god_ \- to jump from. His gaze lit upon a building a couple of blocks away. It was half boarded up, obviously scheduled for demolition. But that wasn't what had caught his eye.

Sam looked from the faded logo on the side of the building, back to the brightly-lit sign on the one he'd just come out of, and his heart sank. That was the bank's old premises. The same building Blake had jumped from.

Sam broke into a run.

* * *

Dean rounded the corner onto the fifth set of stairs, climbing steadily. _Soon be on the roof._

He rubbed his thumb against the ring on his finger, reassured by the solid edges of the stone. _Soon be on the roof_, he told himself again, and felt the thought snag against something in his mind.

He forced himself to a standstill, trying to pin the feeling down. The ring. He'd taken it out of his pocket, that was it. To perform the ritual, because the rings were letting Blake control people...

_Aw, hell no._

"Screw you, buddy," he said out loud. "I'm not in the mood for diving lessons today."

There was no answer that he could hear, but Dean felt himself start walking again, heading up towards the top of the building.

He wondered whether Sam had found Lisa. Judging by what was happening now, the ritual had been pretty successful at drawing Blake away from her - he just hoped that he'd done it in time. Dean thought back again to the photos Sam had found of her - the recent one, with her laughing and happy, and the older one, one hand pressed to her bump, self-conscious but smiling at the camera.

What fucking right did Blake have to judge her?

_Every right._

Dean managed to grab hold of a wall, but couldn't stop himself from walking. _Jesus._ He was pretty damn certain that hadn't come from him.

"So why, then?" he demanded out loud, forcing out the words. "Tell me, if you're so sure of yourself. Why attack Lisa? What the hell did she ever do?"

For a moment there was nothing, and then he heard it again, more clearly a voice this time, growing stronger with each word. _She failed. She failed to protect her son._

"Failed, failed, blah blah blah," Dean said in disgust. "It was an accident, it's not like it was her fault. Who the hell are you to judge?"

_She swore. We all did. She was the reason we swore what we did. And she didn't keep her promise._

"What the hell kind of promise gives you the right to end people?" Dean demanded. How many damn stories did this building have, anyway? Though he supposed the more the better. Well, at least for now.

_We promised to look after her baby. To look after all the children._ Blake's voice took on a note of rage. _But it was a lie. They all failed._

"Failed?" Dean said disgustedly. "Only by your twisted definition. For fuck's sake, Lisa's 'baby' must be over by thirty by now. She did a helluva lot better than you at protecting her kid."

Blake didn't respond, and for a moment Dean thought he was gone, but the compulsion to keep heading towards the roof was still as strong as ever.

A draft of cold wind hit him, and he looked up to see he'd finally come out onto the last flight of stairs, the door to the roof banging open and shut ahead of him. Dean felt himself speed up involuntarily, and found himself emerging out on the roof, despite his best efforts to hold back. Blake might have quit yapping at him for a moment, but he sure as hell hadn't gone away.

"Look, I get that you've got your little punishment mission and all." Dean reached out, trying unsuccessfully to brace himself against a wall. "But I don't have any kids, so why go after me?"

He caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye, a half-formed shadow darker than the gathering dusk would justify, and managed to force himself to turn around.

"You know why," Blake said, his eyes boring into him.

Dean stared at him. Blake looked almost substantial, only the fact that he seemed more in shadow than the surrounding gloom betraying what he really was. His eyes were hard and angry.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Dean demanded.

"You feel it," Blake said more quietly. "You feel it when he's in pain. You feel it when you fail him." There was a pause before he continued, "You felt it when he _died_, didn't you? That guilt? That knowledge that you'd failed to protect him?"

Dean opened his mouth and closed it again, before he finally said, "Bullshit." His voice didn't sound entirely convincing, even to himself.

"You let him die," Blake said coldly. "You didn't stop it. You failed him. I felt it, you know. It woke me up, helped to give me the strength to start punishing people again. You let him die, Dean."

"I didn't," Dean said, trying not to let himself react. God, he hated hearing those words. "I didn't. And I brought him back. I did what I had to."

"It wasn't_ enough_," Blake hissed.

Dean clenched his hands into fists, feeling the ring press against his fingers, trying to get control of himself. It felt like he was slipping; the edge of the roof was coming ever closer, but he couldn't seem to stop walking.

"Better than what you did," he forced out. "What did you do? Just went out and killed and hurt other people. All because of some poor kid you didn't even give a damn about until she was gone."

There was a moment of silence. "I failed Kelly," Blake finally admitted. "But do you really think you've done any better, Dean? Oh, you've been _there_ for your brother, haven't you? In every sense."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Dean mumbled. He was almost at the edge of the building, now, crumbling wall looming closer and closer.

"Oh, I think you do." Blake's voice had taken on a nasty insinuating quality. "_Such_ a devoted brother, there isn't anything you wouldn't do for Sam, is there? Do you really think you've protected him, Dean? Do you really think he won't be better off when you're gone?"

Dean swallowed hard. "Shut the fuck up." He hated the tone of Blake's voice, hated him turning him and Sam into something... something ugly. Even if what he was saying was the truth.

But that didn't mean Sam would be better off when he was gone. He needed Dean, and Dean needed to protect him.

"And you've done a _real_ good job of that," Blake said, as if Dean had spoken aloud. "You let him _die_, Dean. Even all the other ways you've failed him... they're nothing compared to that. He _died_."

Dean gulped in a deep breath, finding his feet still carrying him forward, picking up speed again. He could see the lights in the buildings over the edge of the roof now, winking into life as the sun disappeared. "But I brought him back. I saved him."

"But you fucked that up too, didn't you?" Blake reminded him. "Because the only way you could do it was to abandon him. He's going to be all alone when you're gone, Dean - no one left to even _try_ to protect him. He wasn't happy when you told him what you did, was he? It doesn't matter what you do. You always fail him."

"That's not true," Dean said weakly. He was dimly aware that he'd reached the edge of the roof and started to climb, fitting his feet into gaps where the wall had crumbled away, but he couldn't focus on what it meant.

"You failed him," Blake said implacably. "And you have to pay for that."

* * *

Sam ran up the steps, trying to ignore the ache in his legs. He'd run up too damn many flights of stairs for one day. When this was all over, he was going to insist that he and Dean didn't walk any further than from the bathroom to the bed for a day or so.

_God, Dean._ Sam kept looking around as he ran, searching for any indication that his brother had been there, but saw nothing. He couldn't afford to be wrong about this. If Blake had drawn Dean to another building, then Dean might already...

Even if this _was _the right place, there was still a chance he would be too late. Sam gritted his teeth and forced himself to run faster.

When he finally hit the top floor, the door leading outside was standing open. Sam fought down his urge to slam through it, slowing down instead and slipping silently out onto the roof.

He blinked, the night sky seeming almost bright after the darkness inside the building, and the scene before him came into focus. Two figures, one dark in the shadowy gloom of the roof, the other balanced on the wall, silhouetted against the city skyline.

_Dean._

Sam's heart caught in his throat. The perimeter wall was wide, but all the same, his brother was only inches away from the drop. If he took one good step, or if he was startled...

The other figure shifted, not moving so much as flickering into a new position, and Sam understood that it was _Blake_, looking a hell of a lot more corporeal than he had up until now. He guessed that the ritual his brother had performed - _goddamnit, Dean_ \- had something to do with that. It should have been good news - it was a damn sight easier to fight something you could see -

\- Except the shotgun and rock salt rounds were in the car, ten stories down and two blocks away.

Dean's fists were clenched, and Sam could hear him muttering, although the words were too faint for him to make out. It was clear, though, that Dean wasn't in the same state Lisa had been in - he was definitely aware of what was going on. In which case maybe it would be worth calling out to him, encouraging him to fight. On the other hand, that could be just the incentive Blake needed to send him plummeting over the edge.

Sam hovered, in an agony of indecision. Before he could make up his mind, Blake spoke, his voice ringing out clearly across the roof.

"Why don't you turn around, Dean? Turn around and face the person you _failed_."

So much for going unnoticed. Sam caught his breath as Dean turned, balanced precariously on top of the wall, the move taking him far too close to the edge. Dean didn't seem fully aware of that, though; his eyes were focused on Blake, flickering to meet Sam's own for a brief moment.

"Dean," Sam said, taking one instinctive step forward before Blake shifted and he thought better of it. "Jesus, Dean - c'mon, man, step down from there. Don't listen to whatever he's telling you -"

"Oh, I'm not telling him anything he doesn't already know," Blake said coldly. "After all, it's all true, isn't it, Sam? Dean failed you. He didn't come for you in time."

Blake turned back to Dean, an unpleasant smile on his face. "You let him die, let him bleed out into the mud, didn't you, Dean?"

"That wasn't Dean's _fault_," Sam shouted, fists clenching. He ached to run forward, to pull his brother down to safety, but he didn't dare. "He didn't just abandon me, he came as soon as he could. He came to find me!"

"Yes, you always go looking for your little brother, don't you?" Blake said meditatively. "Do you think he'll miss you, Dean, when you can't do that any more? When you abandon him for good?"

"Not - abandoning him," Dean said with an effort, eyes on Sam. "Just... did what I had to. Promised to keep him safe." He swayed a little on the wall, shifting his stance.

"It wasn't enough," Blake hissed. "Remember his blood on your hands, Dean? Remember knowing how badly you'd failed him? You say you did what you had to, but it _wasn't enough_."

Sam swallowed, keeping his eyes fixed on Dean's. He'd been horrified and furious when he'd found out what Dean had done, and he'd let his brother know it, too. And he hadn't changed his mind about that. Not now, not ever. Dean going to hell wasn't something he could just accept.

But the fact that he hated the implications didn't change what Dean had done. What he'd done for _him_. And Sam would never be able to put into words how much it meant, the knowledge that Dean would do _anything_ for him.

He wondered now if it had been a mistake, not to even try.

"He sold his soul for me," Sam said. His words were addressed to Blake, but it was Dean he was watching. "How can you say it wasn't enough? It was _everything_."

* * *

It was hard to keep fighting against the accusations Blake was making, particularly when a part of his mind had been telling him the same things.

Dean gritted his teeth and _refused_ to give in, trying to focus on something else - the faint voice inside him that said _no_, he'd been there for Sam, he'd always done everything he could -

A voice that was suddenly being echoed by what sounded like Sam's voice.

He swayed a little at the realization, and felt something shift under his feet. _The wall._ He was standing on the wall, balanced ten stories above the street.

Another small shift by his left foot, part of the crumbling brick coming away. Dean fought desperately to keep his balance, trying to forget the dizzying drop behind him. He kept his attention on the rooftop instead, pushing away the weird sense of disconnection that made everything seem unreal. He blinked hard, and his brother came into focus.

"Sam." His voice came out croaky, like he hadn't spoken for days. "I'm sorry, Sam. There wasn't enough time."

Sam took a step closer, then another, moving cautiously. His face was drawn into strained lines. "Dean. Dean, I know. It's OK, just - Dean, please."

Dean felt himself sway again, and clenched his fists, trying to keep his focus and his balance. He blinked, and saw that Sam had stopped moving, paused a few feet away, eyes wide and fixed on him.

A slight breeze had started up, and Dean could feel it against his back. He forced his mind away from it. "You find Lisa?"

"Yeah," Sam said, eyes never leaving him. "She's fine, Dean."

Blake hissed in disgust. "I'll deal with her later."

"She doesn't deserve to die, Blake," Dean said, his voice coming stronger now. "She doesn't deserve it, any more than Linda did, or Felicia. Any more than you did, you poor sick fuck."

Dean felt the wave of malevolence coming up from Blake like it was a physical force. "And what about _you,_ Dean?"

Dean felt his body tensing in response, muscles bunching to jump. "Think I've made a lot of mistakes."

He heard Sam inhale sharply in shock, a split-second before Dean thumped down on the concrete next to him. "But that's none of your goddamn business."

Taking the ring off was much easier than he'd thought it would be. He closed his hand around the cold metal, watching his brother's panicked expression give way to a fierce grin that sent warmth right through him.

"You can't," Blake said, his voice surprised and furious. "You failed! You admitted it!"

Dean shrugged awkwardly, muscles still slow to respond to his commands. "I failed. Who doesn't? And yeah, not saying I don't feel bad about it. But throwing my life away now... you said it yourself, abandoning my brother like that would be the real failure. So I guess you got something right."

"Then there'll be others. Don't think there won't!" Blake surged up close, trying to force Dean back towards the edge of the roof, but it was surprisingly easy now to stand his ground.

"Sorry, Blake." Dean tightened his fist around the ring in his hand. "But you're bound to this one now. No more skipping from place to place."

He briefly met Sam's eyes as he started to chant the words of the cleansing ritual, hoping like hell this would work without lighting candles and drawing circles.

Blake flickered in and out of existence, little wisps of him peeling away as he battered against Dean, screaming threats. Dean did his best to hold firm, though he couldn't stop himself from swaying slightly, stumbling over the words of the ritual.

Sam surged forward to stand right in front of him, closing his hand over the fist in which Dean was holding the ring. He picked up the chant in a steady murmur, and Dean took a breath and joined in again, their voices overlapping and then strengthening into unison.

Blake flickered out of existence again, then reappeared on the edge of the building. He looked different, now - his features clearly visible - and Dean realized with a start how young he was. Had been.

Dean took a deep breath and launched into the last part of the ritual. He kept his eyes on Blake as the spirit drifted up onto the wall and wavered for a moment before stepping slowly out into nothingness.

"Domine, oremus. _Oremus._" Blake hung in the air for a moment as they chanted the final words, one arm flung out as if he was afraid of falling, then dissipated into nothing.

Dean exhaled shakily, staring at the place where Blake had been until he was finally convinced he wasn't about to re-materialize. It was the warmth of Sam's hand, still closed around his, that brought him back to himself.

He met his brother's eyes for a long moment. Sam was smiling, a quieter version of the grin he'd given him before.

"Sam," Dean said, and stopped.

His brother raised an eyebrow, but didn't interrupt.

"Sam," Dean repeated, and sighed. "You _really_ need a shower, dude."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, well, do you know how many flights of stairs I've had to run up today?"

Dean winced. "To be honest? Yeah. I can tell by the _smell_. Dude, seriously."

Sam laughed, his touch on Dean's hand lingering before he released it. "You're not exactly lily fresh yourself, you know."

"Then let's get out of here and find a goddamn shower," Dean said, heading towards the door.

The ring was warm in his hand, nothing but dull metal now. Dean tightened his grasp around it, then slipped it into his pocket.

* * *

Sam sighed. The hot water was working its magic, but it was much less enjoyable without Dean under it with him. As soon as they'd reached the motel, though, his brother had shoved him in the direction of the bathroom with another crack about how badly he stank. Sam hadn't pushed, but it was difficult to feel comfortable with leaving his brother alone so soon after seeing him balanced on the edge of that building. He shivered at the memory, and finished washing as quickly as he could.

Dean grabbed his own towel as soon as Sam emerged from the bathroom, barely even waiting for Sam's words of acknowledgement. He closed the door behind him, and Sam regarded it regretfully. He'd had half-formed thoughts of joining his brother in there for a more _satisfying_ shower, or maybe just for a shave if Dean was still intent on taking his shower alone.

Still, after what had happened up on that rooftop, maybe it was understandable for Dean to want a few minutes alone.

He seemed to take longer than usual in the shower, long enough that Sam suspected it was the water running cold that finally drove him out. Sam frowned. Dean taking epic showers wasn't unusual in itself, but still...

When his brother finally emerged amid a cloud of steam, though, Sam couldn't help but smile. Dean had wrapped a towel around his waist, but otherwise he was naked, the stark lines of the tattoo vivid against his chest.

Dean padded over to his duffel, stirring through his jumble of clothes with one foot. Sam followed him over there, pressing up against Dean's back as he wrapped an arm around him, pressing the flat of his hand against the tattoo.

He nuzzled his face against the warm, damp skin of Dean's neck, breathing in the fresh soap scent. "You don't stink anymore."

Dean gave a short laugh. "Can still smell the reek of your shirt. Jesus, Sam, I think you should just burn that thing."

Sam laughed ruefully. "Yeah, I guess it's pretty bad." He released Dean and grabbed the shirt from the floor, slinging it into the bathroom. "Better?"

"Better," Dean said grudgingly, grabbing a pair of boxer shorts from his duffel. "Burn it later."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam said, crossing back over to him. "I don't think you need those quite yet, you know." He trailed a hand down Dean's arm, and frowned when Dean took a step back.

"Knock it off, Sam, I'm trying to get dressed."

Sam stared at him for a moment while Dean grabbed a clean shirt from his bag, pulling it on. It wasn't like Dean to shy away from him after a close call like this. It wasn't like Dean to shy away from him, period.

"This is about what happened," Sam said, only realizing the truth of it as he said it. "Isn't it? Blake said something to you about this. About us."

Dean didn't answer, just dug in his bag again, avoiding Sam's eyes.

Sam waited silently until Dean was forced to straighten up. "Dean, whatever he said... Blake was full of crap."

"Yeah, the guy was a psycho." Dean met Sam's eyes. "But he wasn't exactly making stuff up, was he, Sam?"

Sam held his brother's gaze and took a step closer. "Yeah, well. I'm glad you fought him, Dean. I want you here with me. And I'm going to find a way to keep you here, you know. I'm not letting you go that easy."

He put one hand on Dean's shoulder, feeling his brother tense up at the touch. "I want you _with_ me, Dean. And I don't give a shit what Blake or anyone else thinks about that."

Dean gave a sigh as Sam pulled him closer. "OK." He leaned his head wearily forward on Sam's shoulder. "OK, then."

Sam rested his hand on the back of Dean's neck, holding him there for a moment before tipping his head up.

It was barely a brush of lips at first, Dean's mouth almost defeated against his, but Sam had never been willing to accept that from his brother, and he wasn't about to start now. He kissed Dean leisurely, because they had time, and he wasn't letting go.

He seemed to get through eventually, because Dean's hands tightened against his skin, and then they were kissing properly, pressing closer against each other.

Sam slid an arm around Dean's back, pulling him nearer, smoothing it beneath the shirt and along warm skin. He reached up with his free hand and shoved the shirt back from Dean's shoulders, and Dean shrugged it off ungracefully, the movement pushing him even closer.

His arms came up to hold onto Sam, hands stroking down the curve of Sam's back as they kissed again, deep and urgent.

Sam felt the towel round his waist lose its knot, slipping to the floor, and groaned at the feel of his naked dick against Dean's belly. He slid his hand under the elastic of Dean's shorts, moaning again as his brother's cock caught against his own.

Dean bucked up against him, breath coming in quick hot pants. "Sam," he murmured. "_Sam_."

"Yeah." Sam stumbled backwards towards the bed, unwilling to lose hold of his brother. "Yeah, come on."

He pulled Dean down with him and rolled them over so that he was lying on top of his brother, pressing him down into the mattress. It was probably hard for him to breathe, but Dean didn't seem inclined to protest, instead pulling him down into another kiss, keeping him right where he was.

Dean was warm beneath him, soap-scented skin sliding against his, and Sam wanted to stay like this, _just like this_. Then Dean arched up against him, and he forgot everything but the urgent heat of their cocks pressing against each other.

He shifted enough to slide one hand between them, wrapping his fingers around Dean's cock and his own. Dean moaned and arched again, pushing up into his touch as Sam set up an awkward rhythm.

Dean muffled a groan against Sam's skin, sucking kisses into his neck, his hands stroking restlessly over his body. Sam fought for breath and moved his hand faster.

Dean bit down against his neck, moaning more loudly, his hands suddenly tightening their grip on Sam as his body went rigid. Sam gasped as wet heat splashed across his hand, the suddenness of Dean's orgasm catching him off-guard. _Holy fuck._

Dean shuddered against him, gasping for breath, and oh _god_, Sam couldn't take it, slickness coating his hand and sliding against his cock, and Dean murmuring his name, _Sam, Sammy, Jesus -_

He collapsed against Dean as he came, and Dean went with it, letting Sam's weight carry them both back against the bed. Sam concentrated on breathing, feeling one of Dean's hands settle against his back, the other creeping into his hair.

After a moment Dean shifted under him. "Dude, you're fucking heavy. Need to breathe now."

Sam rolled reluctantly onto the bed, half-afraid that Dean would take the opportunity to move away from him. But his brother just scrubbed half-heartedly at the sticky mess on his stomach with the corner of the sheet, then curled in next to him.

Sam shifted to make room, pulling Dean in closer. He thought hazily that they probably ought to move - get cleaned up properly, maybe go out and find some food.

Dean sighed, breath gusting against Sam's chest, and closed his eyes.

Maybe they didn't need to move just yet.

* * *

 

#### Epilogue

The curse box was made of dark, pitted wood, with a strong padlock to keep people out and fine, flowing symbols to keep things in. Dean was pretty certain that Blake was gone, but their dad had thought that before, and there were things Dean didn't believe in taking chances on.

"Bobby did a nice job." Sam ran his fingers over the symbols painted across the lid. "It's pretty solid."

"Yeah." Dean held on to the box for a moment longer, checking it over, then reached up to set it on the highest shelf, pushed back almost out of sight.

He felt Sam's hand close on his shoulder, then slide down to press against his back for a moment, before his brother turned and headed back towards the door of the lock-up.

Dean looked at the box a moment longer, then ran his eyes over the rest of the room, taking in the still-untouched defenses and the dusty childhood mementos. He nodded to himself.

"Ready?" Sam asked. Dean looked over to see him leaning in the doorway, his eyes warm and knowing.

"Yeah," Dean said, and headed towards his brother. He snagged the keys out of Sam's hand. "Let's go."


End file.
